And had she been an enchantress, she would have cast a spell on me then – had me in her thrall. Had she been a witch, I’d have known it then.
So since he was neither spellbound nor out of his wits, why did he now feel so bereft? Hell’s teeth! The woman had only been in his life a scant while. He felt no lust when he kissed her, beyond that first sudden urging, had just responded to it, and that response was coupled with the desire to find out for sure whether she be enchantress or no.
Lost in his thoughts, he started when an enquiring nose whiffled at his hair. “Troubadour! What? You are here? Well, and I did not fasten you so tightly after all, in case I had need of you. But there, we’ll be on our way soon enough.” The big horse nudged him and, getting to his feet, Giles gathered the reins.
For a moment, he’d forgotten the Abbess. She stood there tall and serene, one hand on Troubadour’s shoulder. “A nice creature,” she said approvingly, then gazing at him, her greenish-grey eyes assessed him shrewdly. “Unsettling, is it not, watching the tree at work? And doubtless you begin to wonder whether what you have seen be truth. I know the events of the day may seem passing strange…” Giles gave a snort of derision. “Quite so,” she continued unruffled. “But be assured of this. She was as real as you or I. Despite what you have seen, hold fast to that truth. Now,” she said turning back towards the Abbey, “you have a difficult task ahead of you. Walk back to the Abbey with me. We have a short while before I must be about my business. Let us discuss a plausible tale – one as near the truth as possible – to tell John. That is, if you wish for my help.” She paused, a quizzical expression on her face.
“For a woman of God, my lady, you seem remarkably untroubled by all this and by the planning of falsehoods to be told to my liege lord.” He eyed her narrowly as they walked.
“My lord, I am, as you say, a woman of God, so why should I be surprised by the miraculous?” She gave another of her quiet smiles. “And as for falsehoods; there are many ways to tell a truth, are there not? We have merely to decide on the most believable truth for John. I shall leave you to embroider the linen for him. I find, in some cases, men are far better at embroidery than women.”
The woman was irrepressible! As Giles could think of nothing to say to this piece of wit, he fell silent.
“It will be time for Vespers soon. Mayhap you would like the use of a guest room? You may wait there and join me for a light supper in my chamber before Compline. We will, of course, be accompanied; I do not entertain in my rooms alone, however, we may speak freely before Sister Ursel. Indeed, she may well be able to assist us. Now, I must think. I urge you to turn your mind to the matter in hand. We have but a short time, and it will be none so easy to come up with something to make John accept your reasons for having neither Marion nor the device.”
Giles blenched. A cloud of dread seemed to hover above him; his next meeting with John would be no pleasant one. Distracted, he followed the Abbess, who led him to the chamber where they had previously taken John and took her leave of him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As he rode into the castle bailey, Giles was immediately accosted by a steward who called a groom over. John must have had them on the watch for him. He dismounted and handed over the reins, patting Troubadour as he was led away.
“My lord de Soutenay.” The steward gestured with some urgency. “Please follow me.”
“What? Hellfire, man! Is there no time for a gulp of wine and to make myself decent?”
His hopes for a chance of refreshment and to wash the grime of the road from his face and hands thwarted, he looked ruefully at his sweat-soaked gambeson. Damn John. Ah well, if he wanted Giles in his dirt, then that was how he should see him; too bad if the royal nostrils were offended.
The steward had the grace to look abashed. “I regret, sire, I was instructed to bring you to Lord John the moment you arrived.”
Striding through the castle behind the steward, he hesitated at the open door to John’s private chamber and swallowed, wishing there had been at least time to slake his thirst before the ordeal ahead. Hell’s teeth, but his throat was dry.
He’d spent the last night and most of this day going over and over how to explain Marion and the device. Whichever way he ran it in his mind, it had not ended well. Now, still undecided about exactly what to say, the reckoning was at hand; he could put it off no longer. Reluctantly, he followed the steward in, swallowing again. The lump in his throat remained.
John was dicing with some of his men, showing white teeth against his beard as he laughed. Giles saw curious glances in his direction, some sympathetic, others openly hostile. You couldn’t be at court long without making enemies, especially if you were thought to be in John’s confidence.
John looked up, his brow darkening when he saw Giles’ face. Studying him for a second, he caught his full bottom lip between his teeth, then brought his fist down hard on the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed in temper. A child sitting on a chest, almost hidden in the window embrasure, jumped nervously, not quite suppressing a tiny squeak as the table overturned with a crash, sending goblets and flagon tumbling across the floor.
John looked disconcerted for a moment. He had not noticed the child, a daughter of one of his earls, when she had slipped into the room. For certes, she should not have been there, but John was quite fond of children. He crossed to her side in three strides and flung an arm around her thin shoulders. “Nothing for you to be concerned about, sweeting. Run you along, now. I feel sure your mama will be angered with you if she discovers you here.”
The child regarded him solemnly, then smiled sweetly and left the room, followed by one of John’s favourite hounds.
“I’ll warrant she will be a comely wench when she is older. Well, de Soutenay? I see by your face that you have failed. Do I need to remind you of the penalty?”
“My lord,” Giles broke in desperately, “I have not failed, but what I have to say should be in private.”
John gave him a considering look and flicked his fingers. “My lords, I regret, I require a private audience with de Soutenay.”
Giles looked at the men standing around, some watching intently, others pretending to ignore him. At John’s command, they filed out. De Braose glared at Giles, deliberately jostling him as he barged past. Adam Goodwin gave him a hefty clout on the shoulder and an encouraging wink. At least he had a few good friends at court.
John stalked to the table, which had been stood upright again, and poured himself a goblet of wine from a fresh flagon which one of his squires had hastily replaced the old, spilled one with. He looked Giles up and down, reminding him of a cat toying with its prey before the kill.
“You stink!” John took a swallow of the wine, wiped his mouth and gestured to Giles. “I daresay your throat is passing dry. Help yourself.”
Relieved – he had thought he would have to croak out his news through a mouth which was still filled with the dust of the road – Giles poured a large measure and tossed it back.
John smiled mirthlessly at him. “Now, I believe you are about to explain yourself.” His smile seemed more of a snarl; Giles felt his heart drop to his stomach. “It had better be good.” The sentence was said without venom. Indeed, his tone was almost cordial, but it fooled Giles not one whit.
Giles opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, the door swung open. John turned, a reprimand on his lips. It was never uttered.
A woman stood in the doorway. Tall and straight, her poise belied her years, as her catlike eyes swept around the room. Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of England. Most women her age were withered crones, yet Eleanor still retained a trace of that legendary beauty, even though she was in her late sixties; it was no wonder her enemies called her Melusine. Head held high, she picked her way elegantly across the room, her red and gold mantle trailing behind her.
Giles bent his knee before her, and she held out her hand to receive his kiss. “Your servant, my lady.”
Her
greenish eyes surveyed him coolly. “De Soutenay, I hear you have been on a mission for my son. Pray, rise and seat yourself. John…” She turned to him, holding out her hands.
John took them and dutifully kissed her cheek. “Madame.”
“No doubt, you wonder why I am here.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “I feel sure you will tell me in your own time,” he said with an edge to his voice, pouring her a goblet of wine. She inclined her head to him, taking a sip of the wine and seating herself in his favourite high-backed chair. John flashed a look of anger, quickly veiled, before seating himself in a lower chair to her left.
“I trust I find you in good health, ma Mère.”
“You find me concerned, John. I understand it should be I who am enquiring after your health. Is that not so?” She fixed him with her unblinking gaze.
Fascinated by this exchange, Giles watched as John reddened slightly under her quizzical stare; whether with annoyance or embarrassment he couldn’t tell.
“I daresay you intended to tell me about your unscheduled stop at Sparnstow Abbey, my son. I feel sure you were trying to find the appropriate moment to allay my motherly concerns.”
John looked warily at her. “How well you know me, Madame. I am, indeed, surprised you have the time to worry over my health. I would have thought there was enough on your trencher.”
“Passing strange, John, for I would have said the same of you. However, know that I always will find time to pay attention to my children’s welfare.”
Despite the amused tone of her voice, Giles sensed a veiled warning in the words. And in truth, John had other matters, more urgent than wood nymphs, to attend to.
John fixed her with a slightly hostile stare. “Indeed, ma Mère, it is a pity you were not always so inclined.”
He scored a hit; a slight flush flared briefly on Eleanor’s cheeks, and her brow puckered almost imperceptibly before she rejoined with, “I feel sure de Soutenay does not wish to be privy to all our family matters. Perhaps this can be discussed at a later date.”
Giles lowered his gaze. These Angevins mesmerised him; there was little love evident between them, yet he felt Eleanor did indeed have some maternal affection for John, despite their verbal sparring. Perhaps it was not the love which was missing from their relationship so much as the trust. Little wonder, when John had been implicated in more than one plot against Richard, England’s King, Eleanor’s favourite.
What unloving sons this beautiful woman and her ardent husband had produced as they blazed a trail through England and France. Their love story had set half the world alight yet ended in acrimony and recrimination. It seemed the same warring natures had been inherited by their sons, of whom only two remained – and they at each other’s throats.
Richard did seem sometimes to harbour a careless fondness for his younger brother, forgiving him his part in various intrigues, yet punishing him by naming his nephew, Arthur, son of his dead brother Geoffrey, as his heir.
John, on the other hand, Giles was sure, wanted nothing more than to see Richard dead. For the time being, he was playing the part of dutiful brother but fooling no one except, possibly, Richard.
Eleanor put her head on one side, resting her chin on her hand. “Enough of this. De Soutenay, have you procured the device my son desires so much?”
Taken by surprise at the speed with which the conversation had swung to include him, Giles jumped slightly, spilling a drop of wine onto the floor where it lay for a second like a bead of blood before seeping into the rushes.
John gave that peculiarly mirthless smile of his again. “I see my mother’s grasp of the situation has startled you, Giles. Myself, I have learned long since that she has spies with an ear to every door, an eye to every crack.”
“Spies, John?” The slitted eyes were amused. “I prefer to think of them as safeguards. Certainly, their care is all for you.
“My lord de Soutenay.” Eleanor turned her glittering gaze on Giles. “I believe this device I have heard of is needful for my son’s continued health. Do, pray, tell me whether or not you have obtained it for him.” She drummed her long fingers on the small table set before her.
Giles resisted the urge to fidget like a small boy and returned the cool stare with a confidence he was not feeling. Reaching for his goblet, he took another gulp of the heavy red wine to try to moisten his mouth while he considered how best to reply.
Eleanor’s fingers continued to beat an impatient tattoo on the wood.
“My lady, I found the woman who had the device.”
John leaned forward, his expression avid with lust. “And was she, indeed, a wood nymph? Did she, mayhap, disappear before your very eyes?”
Giles swallowed. That was exactly what had happened, but he could not expect John to believe him.
“Why have you not brought her to me as I demanded? Did she, perchance, bewitch you? And while we are about the subject, Giles,” his smile was unpleasant, “was it necessary of you to choose the soubriquet Jankin? Disguise is one thing, but you made me sound like some half-witted clod–”
“John!” Eleanor interjected sharply. “I thought we were agreed on this. Whether or no he brings the woman is of little consequence. Indeed, you have more present concerns to be thinking of.”
John sat back into the chair again, chewing his lower lip, his brows knit, a petulant expression on his face – like that of a thwarted child, Giles thought scornfully.
Eleanor ignored his glowering expression. “So what of the device, de Soutenay?”
“I spoke with the woman, Madame. She was for certes no nymph. Neither was she a sorceress.”
Eleanor tutted impatiently.
“Her grandsire is a Jewish healer, my lady.”
A small hiss came from John. “A Jewess? She looked like no Jew to me.”
“Her mother converted, married a Christian apothecary of her grandsire’s acquaintance.”
Lie was following upon lie as Giles tried to build a believable story. A slight sweat sheened his brow, and he hoped he didn’t look as desperate as he felt. The story was thin enough, but he couldn’t think of any way to make the events of the last day or so believable. Hell’s teeth! He barely believed it himself. He swallowed again and continued. “The old man forgave his daughter; she was his only child. And he is right fond of his granddaughter, is teaching her his craft.”
“I think I should meet this apothecary,” John said. “And, indeed, why exactly was this Jewish apothecary’s granddaughter visiting the good Abbess of Sparnstow?”
Giles groaned inwardly. He was starting to get tangled in his own web now. He had known convincing John would be no easy task. Indeed, without Eleanor’s unexpected intervention, things would have been even more difficult. It would be wise to try and avoid too many twisted threads. Mayhap if he could keep their attention focussed on the device, they would become less interested in Marion.
“My lord, should it become known you were meeting with an apothecary, and a Jewish one at that, speculation would be rife.” John opened his mouth, but Giles held up his hand. “Pray, allow me to continue. Apparently, the device can be used once only.”
John’s teeth showed, and he took a breath slowly, contemplatively. “There are more such of these devices?”
“Not as yet, my lord. Marion tells me more can be made, but they are difficult to fashion and the herbs used in them are rare and expensive, not growing in this country.”
“Had you taken this woman into custody, I’ll warrant her family would have procured them quickly enough,” John snarled.
“I must confess, de Soutenay, I am, for once, in agreement with my son,” Eleanor remarked.
“Not so, my lady. Marion assures me her grandsire travels to foreign domains to acquire them, and the secret of blending them is known only to him and to Marion’s father. But they are loyal subjects of the crown and want only what is best for you, Sire. It will be their honour to serve you by providing you annually with these devices, for
the herbs contained within last but a year.”
“Hmm. Annually. Like a tax. Yes, the idea pleases me.” John leaned forward again, one elbow on his knee, eyes narrowed, hand stroking his neat beard. “But can I trust them?”
“My liege, their desire is to serve you, but this needs to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. Not only are the devices rare and valuable–”
“So why am I not to meet these paragons of virtue?” John’s tone was becoming silky, a bad sign.
Giles swallowed hard, wishing he was anywhere but here. The confines of the room seemed to be growing smaller by the minute, and he felt as though he was wearing a noose about his neck. “Sire, they would be honoured to meet with you, but if it became known that they serve you in this way, both your and their own lives would be put at risk. It would be easier, by far, for your enemies to deal with them than you, and then all would be lost. You have many enemies, and there are those who serve you who would not hesitate to betray you. Is that not so?”
“It grieves me to agree with you, de Soutenay, but certainly there are those who serve me who cannot be trusted.” John gave a sidelong glance at Eleanor. “I feel sure, ma Mère, that yours are not the only spies at court. And so,” he focussed his gaze on Giles again, “how do you propose to acquire this wondrous device, de Soutenay?”
“My liege, Marion has given me her word that I may collect it from her over Whitsuntide.”
John stiffened. “Whitsuntide? A strange date to acquire it. Indeed, to meet with this woman on such a day has the feel of sorcery about it. Are you sure there is no taint of witchcraft here?”
Eleanor gave him a disdainful look and spoke with asperity. “I think we would do better not to enquire into certain things. And, my son, if some are to be believed, I, myself, am descended from Melusine.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Indeed, many of your father’s advisers would have sworn an oath on it.” She paused. “John, my son, it seems you have need of this device whether or no witchcraft is involved. And indeed, Whitsuntide is a most auspicious and holy time. Mayhap we should consider it a benison from our blessed Lord himself. Perhaps,” she mused, “it might be considered as miraculous as Barnacle Goose.”
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