by Rachel Bard
Then my heart gave a lurch as Isabella followed her mother into the room. In a blue gown that matched her eyes and a sash of the same gold as the ringlets that framed her face, she looked like a fledgling angel.
Aymer rose and presented his wife to me. He turned to his daughter. "I think you met King John yesterday, Isabella. Now he is our guest, and you may greet him again."
I went to meet her, holding out my hand. She took it, bent her head briefly, and looked at me with all the audacity she had shown at the inn when prattling about Hugh and her forthcoming wedding. But her voice and words were respectful.
"I am pleased to see you again. I hope you are well."
I managed to blurt out a reply, then with relief heard Aymer speak to his wife.
"King John will be with us until Hugh arrives, then he will go on to Limoges."
The countess smiled at me as though I’d done her an immense favor.
"We're honored to have you as a guest, even though we're only surrogate hosts for Hugh. Perhaps some day soon we may entertain you at our own castle at Angoulême."
"Yes, that may be, I hope so, it well may be." I hardly knew what I was saying. My eyes were fastened again on Isabella. She, however, had forgotten me.
"Will Hugh come soon, Father? He promised he’d be here to meet us yesterday but he wasn't. And Uncle Ralph and I hurried so to come on time."
"Don't whine, Isabella. We've just had a messenger from him. He hopes to get here before evening."
Lady Alix said, “Now, my lord King, would you like to rest for a time? We’ve tried to make a chamber comfortable for you, but you must ask for anything you find lacking.”
I was conducted up another dark, dank flight of winding stairs to a room considerably more agreeable than the one I’d just left. A small but cheery fire had been lit on the hearth, to dispel any chill that might come with sunset. A large bed was curtained in rich red hangings. A cushioned chair was drawn up to a table where, in a pool of light from a tall fat candle in a silver candlestick, I saw a flagon of wine and a bowl of nuts and fruits.
The countess had urged me to ask for anything that was lacking. Alas, I couldn’t ask for what I wanted most: Isabella. It was agony to know that she was so near, yet so inaccessible. I walked to the window, where I had a full view of the bailey.
I heard hoofbeats approaching. It was Hugh and his party of two knights and their grooms. As they rode through the gate the high walls threw back the sounds of stamping hooves, clanking armor, the whinnying of horses glad to be home. I saw and heard the bustle of dismounting, tossing of cloaks and swords to servants, shouts of instruction.
Hugh was soberly dressed in some nondescript brown garments with no plume in his hat or tassels on his hose, as he’d worn when I saw him in Rouen. When he took off his hat his russet hair was disheveled and as bushy as a fox's tail. He looked tired.
Ralph came out to meet him. Before the brothers had exchanged a dozen words, Isabella shot out of the castle door like a hound after a hare. She ran headlong toward Hugh, then caught herself and stood stockstill before him. They took each other's hands and she looked up at him with pure, undisguised affection.
There were no embraces, no touching except the clasped hands, but their faces shone with such joy that I had to turn my eyes away. When I looked back, they were sitting on a bench, talking. I couldn't hear a word but their happiness at this reunion was so evident that even Ralph smiled almost benevolently at them. After he left they stayed another ten minutes. Isabella must have said something that surprised Hugh because he rose and looked around. They walked inside, still holding hands, Isabella skipping to keep up with Hugh's long strides.
I was hot with jealousy, then cold with fury. I knew that Isabella would be mine eventually. But would she ever look at me as she looked at Hugh?
I hated him with all my being.
Chapter 7
Hugh le Brun
1200
Just past Midsummer Day I was at last on my way back to Lusignan. Following the winding course of the Vonne, my two men and I rode through fields of ripening barley, not quite ready for the scythe, still green-gold. When a breath of wind arose, it moved over the grain and sent waves marching across the fields, as measured and inexorable as the billows of the sea. Here and there a patch of blue signaled a field of flax. In the meadows the cattle looked up gravely as we clop-clopped by, then went back to the serious business of grazing.
Sometimes we passed country folk on the road: a woman on a donkey leading another donkey on a rope, an oxcart so loaded with hay that the driver was almost invisible. A very small boy was herding two large balky black-and-white goats. When he saw me looking at him he flicked his little willow-whip at them and urged them on—“Hup there, hup there, be alive!” They increased their pace very slightly. I smiled at him and saluted him with my own whip.
This was my country, this Poitou, where I’d been born and raised. I loved it. I was content. More than content: I thought myself the happiest man alive.
For one thing, the visits to my new vassals in La Marche had gone well. They were agreeably surprised to find me so accommodating, after their years of trying to get along with their former suzerain, Eleanor of Aquitaine.
“A most demanding mistress, Queen Eleanor was,” said Hubert of Belloc, lord of a prosperous domain near La Trémouille. “Always sending her men around to poke into our affairs and make sure we weren’t holding out any revenue due to her.”
“If you promise to be honest with me,” I assured him, “I’ll leave you to manage your demesne as you think best.” I’d found it usually worked best to begin on a footing of trust rather than suspicion. Time enough to play the heavy-handed seigneur later, if need be.
Hubert pledged on his honor to serve me loyally, as did the others. With my mind easy on that score, I could give myself up to the anticipation of seeing my Isabella again. I could hardly believe that only three months before I’d thought of my betrothal with indifference. Now, God willing, Isabella’s parents and I would set the date for our wedding.
I spurred my horse to a gallop as the track up through the town of Lusignan leveled off at the castle entrance. When my men and I rode into the bailey, I’d hardly dismounted when out Isabella flew like a little whirlwind to greet me. We walked across the parched dusty grass to a stone bench against the farther wall, under a huge sycamore. Sitting in its deep cool shade, sheltered from the heat and brightness, we paid no attention to the men shouting, armor clanking, and horses stamping their hooves, not twenty feet away.
Isabella was a surprise. She’d grown, not in stature but in maturity. Her hair was not hanging free, but was pulled back and coiled in a knot on the nape of her neck. Her dress, a filmy pale-gray gown, caught at the waist with a band of green linen, was more womanly. This was not the heedless girl who used to throw on any old garment to go galloping through the countryside with me, riding astride like a boy.
She giggled. “Why are you staring at me, Hugh? Because I’m not the simple little girl you once knew?”
“No, you aren’t. But I like the new Isabella very much.” I pressed her hand gently, realizing I’d been holding it ever since we sat down. She returned the pressure and we sat quietly, getting used to being together again.
“Well, if I look different it’s because of my mother. She and my father arrived yesterday, My mother told me it was time I dressed like a lady. She said it was disgraceful that Aunt Alice let me go around like a raggle-taggle gypsy. She’s already made me change my clothes twice today.”
“So I expect I must compliment your mother, though I was perfectly happy with the other Isabella.”
Then she was all curiosity about where I’d been and whom I’d seen. I told her about visiting a half-dozen of my new vassals.
“Did you tell them you were going to marry the daughter of the Count of Angoulême?”
“I did indeed, and they were suitably impressed, to a man. I’d like to think it was because the fame of your
beauty had spread, but more likely it was a decent respect for a prudent political alliance.”
More questions: Which of my vassals had the largest estates? Would they be invited to our wedding? And—“Will you be making a progress like this around La Marche and Lusignan when we are married? Will I go with you?”
“I will indeed from time to time. And of course the count will want his countess at his side when he calls on his vassals. She’ll dazzle them with her beauty so they won’t notice when he raises their rents. Now, enough of questions—or do you have any more?”
“Yes.” She was suddenly very serious. “Hugh, why didn’t you ever tell me you’d been married and you had a son?”
I was so dumbfounded I stammered.
“It just wasn’tI never thought—Oh Isabella, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. But it never seemed that important and it had nothing to do with you and me.”
She said nothing, still staring me accusingly.
“But how did you know?”
“A tall young man came to see Uncle Ralph last week and stayed about an hour. I didn’t meet him but I saw them talking in the courtyard, so I asked Aunt Alice who that was. She told me it was your son Hugh and that his mother was dead, but that was all she’d tell me. She said I should ask you if I had any more questions.”
It was my turn to be silent. I’d meant to tell her some day, of course. But it was true, I’d never thought it had much to do with our relationship. Some things, I was learning, mattered much more to women than to men. I took her hand again but she withdrew it.
“All right, Isabella, maybe I should have told you this sooner. It was so long ago. I was only seventeen. My uncle Geoffrey, who was head of the Lusignan family, arranged it. He was a good friend of his cousin, the Count of Lezay, and the two of them decided the count’s daughter Agatha and I would make a good match, good for the family. She was just my age. We took to each other—at seventeen, it’s not hard to imagine one’s in love!” I stopped, trying to remember how it had been.
“Was she pretty?” Her voice had a hardness I hadn’t heard before.
“I thought so at the time, but do you know, now I can hardly remember what she looked like. Anyway, we were married and in about a year our son Hugh was born. But it was a hard birth and poor Agatha died when the child was only three days old.”
“And then what? Who took care of that little baby? Surely not you, Hugh.”
“No, I knew little enough about being a husband, much less a father. Everybody agreed it would be best for my son to be raised by his grandparents down there at Lezay. So he was, and I was glad enough not to be in charge. I wasn’t around much when he was young. I was off on the Crusade, and then serving King Richard here in France. But I’ve been trying to pay more attention lately because he’ll be Count of La Marche some day. He needs to learn responsibility.”
She was very quiet, not looking at me but out from our haven of shady coolness toward the expanse of hot dry grass between us and the castle. I put my arm around her shoulder. She held herself stiffly, then relaxed. I tried not to let my arm weigh too heavily.
“So will you forgive me for seeming to keep secrets? I didn’t mean to. I would have told you all this sometime. Don’t you see that young Hugh makes no difference to you and me?”
Silence.
“Yes, I guess so.” Then, more animatedly, “But Hugh, you must let me meet him soon. Just think, I’ll be his stepmother! I’ll have to make sure he behaves!”
We both laughed at the thought of a slight fourteen-year-old taking on the upbringing of a hulking seventeen-year-old boy.
“Good, I’ll try to arrange it. And he’ll certainly be at our wedding. But now we must find out when that will be. Let’s go in. I must pay my respects to your parents, and talk about setting the date.”
“Before we do, you’ll never guess who’s just arrived.”
“Who? Some bear-baiter, a troubadour ready to sing for us, a band of pilgrims on their way to Rome, some mighty bishop?”
“Much more mighty. It’s King John of England.”
I’d not expected to come on John so soon, after our brief and not very pleasant encounter in Rouen. I had an unaccountable sense that something was not quite right.
“Why has he come to Lusignan, do you think?”
“My father says he’s calling on his new vassals—just as you’ve been doing, Hugh. He must have heard that my parents were to be here, and he came to make sure they would stay loyal to the Angevin side. There’s going to be a dinner in his honor tonight.”
“In that case, I’d better make myself presentable as soon as possible.”
We started toward the castle. Glancing up I thought I saw a head quickly disappear from an upper window of the tower. Again, that faint foreboding. But I forgot it when Isabella said “Hugh, I’m so glad you’re back!” We walked inside, swinging our clasped hands.
I still felt myself the happiest man alive.
Chapter 8
Isabella
1200
Hugh and I stepped out of brightness and sunshine into the chill gloom of the castle entry hall. Chill and gloom, but not silence. We could hear shouting, pounding and banging from the kitchen, where everyone was frantically getting ready for the evening feast. Hugh peered through the arched doorway and reported, “Looks like roast goose for us tonight. I see two noble big birds being plucked this very moment.”
Aunt Alice, looking flustered and with her cap askew, appeared from somewhere. “Oh, Isabella, your parents want to see you at once in the great hall. And Sir Hugh, King John has sent word that as soon as you arrived, you were to go up to his room in the Melisande Tower.” She went off to the kitchen and I heard something about “A flagon of the best Bordeaux for the King, and quickly.”
In the great hall servants were making a great racket as they set up long tables. Boys were bringing in logs to stack by the hearths. Two men were gathering up the old rushes and sweeping the floor, followed closely by another who strewed fresh ones. In a pocket of calm at the far end of the room my mother and father sat at the head table, waiting for me. They were talking in low voices. When they saw me they broke off. Something about this encounter reminded me of the day when they’d called me in to tell me I was to marry Hugh. Had that been only six months ago?
“Good, there you are, Isabella,” said my father. “Come sit down and pay attention. As you know, we’ve come to Lusignan to talk about your wedding. Now that we’ve discussed it with King John, we’ve decided it should be at the end of August.”
I’m afraid my voice rose as it does when I get upset. Lady Anne had often told me to watch myself.
“You mean this August? I thought it wasn’t to be for at least a year. So did Hugh. And why isn’t he here, doesn’t he have something to say? It’s his wedding too, you know. And what does King John have to do with it?”
My father frowned.
“Don’t be shrill, daughter. As for Hugh, he’ll join us when he can. King John had some urgent business with him.”
He looked at my mother. She gave the tiniest of nods. He continued.
“It’s true, we’d thought the wedding wouldn’t be so soon. But things have changed. King John has just told us that he expects to engage King Philip in battle again before the end of the year. He needs to be sure we’ll support him. In his view, the sooner you and Hugh are married the more secure the alliance will be of two of his most loyal and powerful vassals. So he’s asked us to hold the ceremony before the end of the summer.”
That made sense. But so far I’d thought of Hugh as a friend, the friend I’d never had. We’d talked about marriage, but as something far in the future. Was I ready?
“Besides,” said my mother, “you and Hugh seem to be compatible. In fact, Ralph tells us you’ve grown fond of each other. We thought this would please you.”
My father resumed.
“Since John must leave tomorrow for southern Aquitaine he wants to be
assured that the marriage will take place soon. We thought that was a reasonable request.”
My mother put on her most persuasive smile. “Remember, you’ll soon be a countess with many responsibilities. Sometimes we have to put aside our personal feelings and do what’s best for the family and the county. Surely you can understand that.”
I tried to think like a countess-to-be.
“Yes, I guess so. Hugh’s already told me that he’s King John’s man. He said the Lusignans have been subjects of the Angevin kings for a long time, and he sees no reason to change. But I thought you were pledged to King Philip. Won’t he be cross if you go over to John?”
“He may well be,” my mother said. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“If we change from Philip to John, shouldn’t he give us something in return?”
“He should indeed,” said my father. “Congratulations, Isabella. You’re thinking like a countess already. You may be sure I’ll not let John forget that he owes us a very large favor.”
We heard a creak as the massive door opened. Hugh was standing there, looking dazed. My father beckoned to him to join us. The scraping and sweeping had subsided and the hall was now quiet. Hugh sat beside me. We exchanged a quick look. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his face was flushed and darker than usual. If King John had given him the same news I’d just had he should have looked happier.
My father was speaking. “Well, Hugh, has King John given you the word—that he wishes your wedding to Isabella to take place by the end of August?”
“He has. And I think I can appreciate his reasons.” His face was losing its dark flush. He turned to me. “It’s sooner than we thought, Isabella. Are you ready to become the Countess of La Marche?”
I looked at his honest face, the steady brown eyes, the openness and kindness. I felt calmer. It was as though a windstorm had suddenly subsided to a gentle breeze. I put my hand in his.