Gifts of the Queen

by Mary Lide

  He released me, swung the cloak about his shoulders, and pushed past. I stood in the lighted tent once more. The music played, the torches reeked, pages ran with platters of food and wine.

  'Where have you been this age. Countess?' Sir Martin, my table companion, wheezed into my path, wiping his nose upon his sleeve. I stared at him, unable to think.

  Colors, shapes, movement blurred; that men who danced and greeted friends, held knives to plunge into their backs; that women who flirted and preened, held death beneath their smiles; that king and queen used us as pawns. Titles, lands, power, put up for murder's hire, women to play at executioner for their own ends. You will risk your life, I had cried at Raoul. I did not know how close the truth. Dear God, I thought, wrenching myself free from Sir Martin's sticky embrace, does Raoul know? I must warn him.

  It was not so easy to get away. Sir Martin followed complainingly, my squires uneasily followed him, my ladies trailed behind, again deprived of their share in the feasting. I had no idea if Geoffrey Plantagenet spoke the truth, nor where de Boissert and the other Norman lords were, but since I dared not blunder in upon them in the dark, better I thought to wait until I could catch Lord Raoul on his own. I did not know if he still lived, but, fighting panic down, I reasoned so. Not even these Normans would dare kill openly. Rather, sometime when he was off guard, they would strike, and soon, before Raoul and his men had won a victory over them. Before tomorrow's mêlée then, or during it. And the more I tossed and fretted in the dark, the more it seemed to me, were I murderer, I would choose the soonest, easiest way. Behind my closed eyelids a line of horsemen such as I had seen at Saint Purnace, seemed to wait, a massed black line, their cruel spears flashing in the sun, the thunder of their charge drowning out thought. In the mêlée , then, that would be the time when Raoul must ride in front, and lead his side out. Someone behind his back, one of his own chosen side, would thrust him through. What better time when, in a general fight, any man might be killed and all men looked for blood, when murder could be called an accident. And when all of Sieux could be destroyed with that one thrust. It was a better plan than the one at Saint Purnace, and certainly easier to achieve. In a fever, I waited for dawn, until the trumpets sang out their early note. Then, taking the little hunting knife I always wore, I slit the back of the tent and crept out; no difficulty, I had done as much before. As I began to run, the dew beneath my feet so wet that I was drenched within twenty steps, I had a sudden memory of Cambray at this hour, the vast expanse of heather moors, the long stretch of open beach. Yet Cambray had not been so clean and fair that men had not sullied it; murder too had been done there, to kill my other loves long ago, and treachery planned as foul as here. Nowhere in this world is safe, unless you be willing to fight for it.

  The morning had not yet truly come, the eastern sky was streaked with red, a half light on those empty fields; les beaux prés de France, now should I see them for what they were. At Raoul's tent, his guards would have barred the way but, seeing I meant to push aside their spears, they let me in, awkwardly knuckling salute. Inside, Raoul was partly dressed. He spun round and snatched for his sword. That quick gesture alone told me what I was sure was truth.

  'My lord,' I said. 'I must talk.'

  He did not reply, one page already struggling with the straps of his mail, another burnishing up his spurs. In a moment, they would bind his hands to give him better grip. 'Raoul,' I said, anxiety making my voice break, 'we must be alone. I have a thing to tell.'

  He eyed me, not suspiciously, not impatiently, but resigned, as if he thought I came to plead on my own behalf. I think his mind was already concentrated on the day's work and he wished me gone.

  'It is too late,' he said.

  'Not for this,' I said. Some urgency in my voice must have alerted him that this was more than a woman's whim. He gestured to his men to leave us alone, and went quietly forward with the preparations on his own. I had a sudden qualm that he would not believe me, or, at best, make light of it. But, guessing perhaps my hesitation, he smiled.

  'Now speak,' he said. When I was done, I found that I had clutched at him with both hands as if to shield him from harm. He did not argue or show surprise, not even when I told him how I thought his murderers would attempt to kill him, but quietly freed himself from my grasp. Nor did he question, then or ever, how or where I had heard the news, and I never mentioned Geoffrey Plantagenet's name. 'Your ears have grown sharp,' was all he said, 'except in two instances are you misinformed. The plan is to strike not south, but north against Henry's Norman hinterland, along King Louis's flank; a fool's attack, since the Vexin, at which the conspirators aim, is a tract of land both kings will fight to keep. As for those castles you name, why, they have already been promised me as bribe.' He mused a while, fumbling with the lacings on his sleeve until I tried to tie them for him.

  'Well, Ann,' he said at last, as if resolved, 'they have promised us many things; since we have agreed to none of them, they have nothing to expect from us. But it cuts hard to think they would use me thus.'

  'Raoul,' I cried, in my eagerness almost willing to drag him forth, 'while there's time, let's escape. Ride out with me.'

  He disentangled himself from me a second time. 'Ann,' he said again, 'there is no escape. I honor your concern. But think. I am come here for one purpose—to show our worth. If I leave now, what have I shown—only that I am not a match for them. If not now, then some other time, they will come after us. God's teeth, I cannot steal off like a thief. They are all here; one blow will finish them at once, rid us of their threat.'

  He turned and paced about. I watched the way his mail feet strode back and forth, the limp quite gone. Touch what is mine, I'll smite body and soul. I knew before he spoke what his answer must be.

  'We'll not run,' he said. 'By Christ, I've done with running in this life. Since I have been back in France, luck has favored them. Now it favors me.' He paced and paced, that cat prowl I remembered, ready to pounce.

  'How can you withstand them?' I whispered, 'so many men, and you with eight?'

  'Eight on the field,' he said, "but off it, there are ways to have others standing by.' He suddenly laughed. 'When I was a lad and had a tutor to whip Latin verse into me, it seems I read the Roman cavalry ever stood ''waiting in the wings.” We shall try their tactics for ourselves.'

  'And what shall I do?' I said, although my voice still went wavering out of control. 'You said one day I could lead a charge.'

  He spun round. 'Now, by the Mass,' he said, 'there are times when you try me hard, yet I cannot fault your courage. I meant to send you away. But here's a truth: as companion, I'd prefer you at my back than almost anyone else I know. Most women would run at the thought, but if you'll offer help, by the Rood, I could use it. Not all the Norman barons are in de Boissert's camp, and I must have some way to distinguish friend from foe on the field. Walter is the man for that; he knows them all. You shall sit with the other ladies, if you will, and strew your favors on those contestants who are not yet committed to de Boissert's plans. Make no sign of anything untoward; show no fear; wait for me.' He suddenly smiled, his wide, generous smile, so unlike that other one. 'Little Ann,' he said, 'for all we rub each other awry, for all we fret and tear as waves beat against a rock, you see, I cannot manage without you. For wife, I have never known a woman before who could so bring me to anger's point and then show me that I am wrong. Trust you! You would carve my liver out if you could, but never let one breath of harm come near. And I, I could knock you head over heels and run to pick you up before you land. Together, then. We have been in such tight place before, and worse, and won through.

  He suddenly took my hands, turned them over and kissed the palms. 'Do not be afraid, ma mie. I cannot bear for you to be afraid. No one shall harm us today. Today, we shall not fail you.'

  He asked no other question, gave no excuse, no explanation more, nor did I have the chance to reply to his words. He strode out of the tent, already shouting his orders. Knights,
squires, and groomsmen came running at his command. I had seen them run like that often enough. And, strange as it may seem, a sort of resignation came over me. I knew the nature of the attack on us and the danger entailed. I had fought Raoul to make him change and he had won. I had done my best to keep him safe and I had failed. And yet, suddenly, it was true; I was no longer afraid. He deserved to face his enemies as they should be faced. Let him go forth nobly and with honor high. That day, I think I realised what it meant to be the wife of a fighting man, a countess of an old and honorable line. Daughter of a soldier I was, wife to another, mother of a future one. I accepted fate. That day, for the first time, I understood what honor meant to him. And I felt, I cannot explain it otherwise, that his own resolution and courage had become part of me.

  Two of the younger maids, steadier than the rest, I trusted to throw these favors with me; I marshalled the other women, marched them in good order to the spectator stands. I had them tear the red and gold flags of Sieux into strips, red for blood and gold for victory, that at Walter's whisper, we should tie our ribbons on men's arms as they rode by in the parade. And victory hung singing in the air . . .

  A mêlée is what is sounds like, a mix, a mingling, when two sides meets as in real battle. The combatants pick sides, charge as in real battle, fight fiercely as in real battle, meet and thrust and charge again until, when only a few are left still horsed, they fight hand-to-hand with sword and shield. They do not seek to kill each other as in real battle (although men are killed) but today death was expected. When I saw those two distant lines, looming dark on the horizon, I knew at last I had found those menacing figures of my fears. Between the lines of horsemen the meadows were still mist encased, a sign of heat; the grass stretched green that, before the day was out, would be churned to mud. De Boissert led one side. Lord Raoul the other, eight men apiece, and all the other lords of Normandy, so attended, to fight against. Not all perhaps, for each time I rose at Walter's nod, I pushed my women up to shower our red and gold ribbons on as many men as we could, that Raoul could pick them out as friends. And when my lord passed, already helmeted so that his face was hid, I thought I heard that laughter in his voice to set his men at ease. 'Decked out, by God,' Raoul said, 'a Yuletide log.' And he dipped his lance in salute, then cantered on.

  Beside me, Sir Jean squirmed, 'Against the laws of chivalry,' he cried, trying to prevent my standing up. 'Favors are given only in the joust.'

  And what do you do against the laws of God, I thought, you, your daughter and that fair Isobelle? I let him whine who was scarce able to give the order to charge; and I outfaced the Lady Isobelle for a front seat, sat and watched that no man should say of me I turned aside today.

  Charge the two sides did, in two great waves, meeting in the center with a shock that made the ground sway. Twice they met, parted, wheeled back. After each passage, men were hurtled into the air, horses ran on riderless, squires rushed to pull the fallen out of the way—dead men, if this had been a real fight; unhorsed knights do not live long. At the third charge, we heard the cry. Down they swooped, great dark birds, the sun full out to blind them, spears leveled like shafts of light. Loud the cry rang out, 'To your left, lord Count, look left,' above the din. There were many lords still on the field, many knights, and only one I think who was a count. I steeled myself to show no sign, so it has been said that without a look I watched Count Raoul ride to his death. But so did murderers sit beside me and smile while their hired assassin struck their coward's blow. I tell you it is no easy thing to watch for death. Down they swooped, those black uneasy lines; they met and broke; the dust clouds eddied like spray thrown against a cliff. Out of the mêlée , two figures emerged, one wearing de Vergay blue, the other that well-known black and white. The de Vergay man rode toward the stands where we sat, almost at his leisure, and as he approached you could see why. He had been wounded in the thigh and his saddle had slipped. Raoul's men had kept good watch for Raoul's assassin and had put their mark on him to brand him. The other man was de Boissert himself, and as we looked, two men in red and gold came hurtling after both. I knew each of the Sieux riders well. One, praise God, was Raoul, bareheaded, his helmet flung off, his black horse snorting as it came, although for a moment I had thought it riderless, the saddle empty, for Raoul had bent over the side to avoid the spearthrust that would have killed him. He rode fast after de Boissert, the faster when de Boissert urged his horse away off the field. But now, from various points behind the stands, from the tree clumps, other men of Sieux rode forth, both squires and knights, some to control the crowds, some circling round to hem the other contestants in. All save that other Sieux man, who rode helter-skelter as only Matt could ride, against Raoul's would-be murderer.

  Beside me, Walter sucked in his cheeks, 'Slow down, slow down,’ I heard him beg. On the other side. Sir Jean was on his feet.

  'Squires on the field,' he cried, 'the order was not given to out swords; sound the retreat.' The order, if such it was, was lost amid shouts of alarm and outrage. Almost beneath us, by the barricade, de Vergay's man stood his ground.

  'Back, young master,' we heard him shout. He beat at Matt with the flat of his sword. 'I do not fight with unknighted boys.' That rasping voice I had heard before, at Saint Purnace. And so had Matt.

  His helmet gone too, his face twisted with rage, Matt reined up with difficulty. 'Traitor,' he snarled, 'to strike my lord in the back. You owe me an arm. You did not mind to attack me once. I'll hack your spurs off to unknight you so we be quits. Stand you and fight.'

  He kicked his horse forward; it bounded on. He rode at the de Vergay man as if at a tilt. The older man had but to wait and thrust through as Matt plunged past. Yet even wounded, Matt still came on, blood pouring from his gashed side. He forced his horse forward again until another blow sent him crashing against the fence. But before the de Vergay man could escape, two more of our men rammed him and his horse and pinned them down. I closed my eyes. A murderer pays a brutal fee. And so does loyalty.

  On the distant edge of the field, Ralph de Boissert still looked for escape, but as he fled we could tell now how Raoul out-circled him, forcing de Boissert to turn and run another way. You saw then what skill Raoul and the black horse had, to pivot and swerve, almost without thought, doing what Matt had tried to do, compelling the enemy to his will. So that, at last, unable to turn or run, de Boissert was forced to shelter beneath his long shield, which now shook under those relentless blows.

  They want to see if I can fight. Proudly, arrogantly. Lord Raoul played de Boissert, although the black horse had lost half of its bridle and Raoul guided it more by voice than rein. And when Raoul bent, you saw the rip along the left side of his mail coat where a spear, thrown from behind, had glanced away. Soon all men watched them. At each blow, the crowd raised up a cheer. De Boissert's horse began to slip, the ground churned by its own hooves, buckling under that incessant onslaught. Its front legs gave way, it slid to its knees, tipping its rider gently off, feet first. Raoul leaned over and, with his sword point, snapped the other man's helmet up and slashed at the straps. The helmet fell and clattered in the dirt.

  'Yield to me,' Raoul cried, 'lawful prisoners, you and your men.'

  De Boissert could not speak; his chest heaved as if with sobs. His gray hair was matted with sweat and his blank eye rolled desperately. But when he did not reply, I saw how Raoul's face tightened and his grasp on his sword hilt leveled it.

  De Boissert turned to Raoul in suppressed rage. 'Why should I yield?' he began, but Raoul interrupted him.

  'Your hired man has paid his price, now shall you pay mine.'

  De Boissert cast a look around the field. Everywhere was confusion. Some of those in the plot, seeing their leader disarmed, had cried a halt, and had already thrown down their shields. Others, bewildered, had drawn aside, armed and ready, but most of these were marked with red and gold and had no part or agreement in de Boissert's schemes. A few fought on, but the Sieux knights were a match for them, strik
ing indiscriminately. Even as he looked, de Boissert saw one of Sir Jean's sons unhorsed; another man's sword flew wide as he was crumpled beneath a slashing blow. Beside us in the stands, Sir Jean, still on his feet, danced with indecision, mouthed advice, too far away for it to be heard; but I could hear: 'Say nothing, do not yield.' To no avail. Before de Boissert could speak again, Raoul had reached over and yanked him hard; the surcoat tore but the sword belt held. Half-swung, half-dragged, he was forced to run as Raoul turned now toward the stands. He too stopped almost beside us and with another mighty heave cast de Boissert across the barricade. De Vergay licked his lips, all the women cowered away. How they screamed and moaned, even the Lady Isobelle, who so far had watched unmoved.

  'By the laws of tourney . . Sir Jean began.

  Raoul caught him next by the slack of his furred gown and held him as one might hold a rabbit or vermin to skin.

  'Now hear me both,' Raoul said, a trickle of blood still coursing down his face. I could see where his armor had been hacked from the rear, a coward's blow indeed. 'I have been guest in your hall, toasted you, broken bread. Twice now have you plotted death for me and mine. What else shall you deserve of me? What you have begun, you shall end. Bid your carrion lay down arms, or I shall kill them and you.'

  Sir Jean knew a truth when it faced him. He dissolved like wax, tore his gray hair, and begged for life. His wife beside him fell upon her knees, the other women started, horror-struck. Excuses fell from de Vergay like rain: Ralph de Boissert had acted on his own; he, Sir Jean, knew nothing of these plots; he was but a victim of them like the rest of us. De Boissert, struggling to his feet, smote Sir Jean across the mouth and took up a different tale: that de Vergay was a fool, to listen to his daughter's spite; that his wife was worse (who recovering, added her pleas for pitié; that Sir Jean had planned it all.

  'Not so,' Sir Jean wept and wrung his hands. 'We both do what we are told. We act for Geoffrey Plantagenet. And de Boissert has the ear of the queen . . .'