Smiling her thanks, Alyson began to write. Though she had not asked Guillelm for the parchment, she was pleased he had found it for her and flattered that he had remembered her love of reading and writing. She had written two letters every day for the past five days: one for Guillelm, and one for herself.
She always began with her letter to Guillelm, before her shoulder ached too much. Aware that his skill in reading was not as great as hers, she wrote in a large, even hand. It was more of a simple “good-day” to him, a scrap of contact between them.
My dear lord,
I trust that your time with the armorers is well spent this morning. I await your company this afternoon.
With faithful obedience, Alyson
Then, because Guillelm always asked if she was sufficiently warm or cool, or if she was thirsty or hungry or bored, she added,
I am very comfortable, counting the bees on the marigolds, drinking a mint tisane that is cooler and greener than the grass on the downs. I have no pain.
Except the small hurt of missing him, to which she would not admit.
She tore off the strip of written parchment, tied it with one of her ribbons and held it out to Gytha.
Her nurse rose off her stool, “I will find a page to take it to him,” she said and wandered off to do just that.
Alone on the roof, Alyson listened to the nuns singing in the chapel below and after a while picked up her quill again. She hummed as she wrote, happy at the task. It was a sweet, secret pleasure to confess her thoughts.
To myself, Alyson of Olverton and Hardspen,
Today by the grace of God I am stronger. My shoulder gives me less pain, although it itches greatly. I would scratch myself like an old boar against a young oak tree! I dare not tell Guillelm of this, though every day when he comes he asks how I am faring.
I wonder if I may see Tilda? It is strange to think of her as Sister Ursula. Sometimes I wonder if I recognize her high, shrill voice issuing from the chapel, where the nuns seem to spend most of their time and sing the holy offices. I wish she would visit me. Perhaps I should ask Guillelm if I might go down to the chapel and see her instead.
I wonder when Guillelm will come? I pray it be soon! This paradise he has made me is so lovely. He says that in the gardens of Outremer there is running water, and many small fountains. That the air is full of spices and the very trees have fragrant leaves. Two days ago, he carried a great cauldron up to this garden and filled it with water and sprays of lime, so that I might have my own scented shade. I laughed when he used a ladle to water the tubs of lavender and marigolds, and he flicked water at me. Yesterday he brought the merlin up to this place and flew her from the battlements. He tells me that Sericus has taken over her daily care and that he seems to have an aptitude for the art of the falconer. I spoke to Sericus again about the wolf that is terrorizing the country and he told me that there have been no more sightings. Perhaps it has died, or perhaps the villagers and cottars have been able to scare it off. I am glad of this, for the threat of the wolf has been preying on my mind.
My lord sleeps in the great hall with his men. Every day, it is a grief to me. I would ask that we both sleep here, in our private Eden, with the stars as our roof, but I lack courage, or perhaps it is strength. Often I am so tired by sunset that I do not even know that Guillelm has carried me down to the great bedchamber until I find myself waking indoors the following morning.
But enough of sadness. It is the duty of a wife to accept the wishes and actions of her husband. In many ways, my lord dragon is attentive and winning. He courts me in many ways. I know that I repeat myself, that writing this again is perhaps a waste of precious parchment, but the memories are also precious to me.
I wonder what he might bring to me today? On the first day he carried me to this paradise, he bathed my hands and face with rosewater. He said the ladies of Outremer used rosewater to add bloom to their complexions. I wanted to ask him then about Heloise but was too cowardly. He said I smelt sweeter than the rosewater, and he kissed me. I teased him by asking if I should wash him first before I kissed him and he lightly tugged my hair, then drew back as if I was as lethal as wolfsbane. I thought I had lost him again to his strange dread of women, that he would leave me stranded on the roof of Hardspen for the rest of the day. But he did not! My lord did not. Instead, he showed me a wonder of Arabic learning, an astrolabe. Stargazers use them to track the motions of the heavens. He also showed me new ways of counting, far easier than tallies. He learned the numbers from an Arabic farrier in Nazareth, a man called Unur. The Arabs count in batches of ten and have a wonderful empty number, called zero. It is a perfect round circle. I drew one with my quill on Guillelm’s palm, and he drew one on mine. I did not wash my hand for the rest of that day.
Alyson stopped writing and rubbed her aching shoulder, then her wrist. After a drink of her tisane she resumed her letter.
My lord has played me songs from France and the Holy Land, on a small harp that looked like a child’s toy in his huge hands. He plays well and sings clearly, though he says his voice is too deep to be truly excellent.
My lord has promised to teach me some dances from Outremer, when I am allowed to rise from my sickbed. Yesterday we played chess. He told me that he and Unur of Nazareth often played chess together. The piece we call a queen, Unur called a vizier. I won our game and Guillelm has asked me for a rematch.
Once, when my stomach rumbled with hunger and he heard, Guillelm laughed and sent down to the kitchen for meat. He cooked a dish himself, on a brazier of coals. Pieces of lamb threaded onto a thin stick, flavored with mint and onions. He said such cooked meat could be bought from street cooks in any large town in the Holy Land. It was delicious.
I think Guillelm is planning something, though he will not answer my questions when I ask after the heralds and messengers that I see pounding out on horseback from Hardspen throughout the day. I would ask Sir Tom, but he only wants to play chess with me. As for Fulk
Alyson brushed the end of her quill thoughtfully against her forehead. By one single, violent act, Fulk had regained Guillelm’s approval and he now strolled about Hardspen with the mercenary’s crossbow as if it were a personal badge of honor. He was careful to visit her every day, always at the beginning of Guillelm’s own time with her and always asking after her injury. He brought her a gift: a flute she had not quite enough breath to play.
Fulk had also found her herbal, which Lord Robert had taken from her.
“Mother of God, I have been scouring the store rooms for days for this!” Guillelm said, highly gratified and taking the leatherbound volume from Fulk with a grin of pure delight. “Where was it?”
“In a grain bin in the stables, my lord,” Fulk answered quietly, bowing to Alyson as a faithful retainer to his lady. “I am glad to be of service.”
That had been two days ago and since then, the leatherbound book lay untouched on the low table. To Guillelm, Fulk was a changed man, his gift and attentions to Alyson proof of that change. “He is capable of great loyalty, once he chooses to give it,” he said, adding quickly, “If he is involved in some malice or deceit, I shall discover it. Fulk was ever a poor liar.”
Alyson sensed that Guillelm was not as confident as he wanted to appear over his seneschal, but mindful of his and Fulk’s long years together in Outremer, she did not voice her suspicions. True, Fulk had found the herbal, but how long ago? The pages did not carry the scents of the stable. She considered it much more likely that Fulk had discovered her book somewhere within the castle and had hidden it within his own personal things, waiting for the perfect opportunity to produce it, the very moment when Guillelm would be most likely to be pleased.
Perhaps I am too wary of Fulk. He is in my lord’s favor not as high as Fulk himself might wish, but Guillelm is no longer sharp with him. Fulk makes himself busy with whatever plan Guillelm is hatching and is amiable with me. I only wish that it was not Fulk who had found my book. I wish his sly, creeping fingers had never touc
hed it. I wish Guillelm had not told him about my lost book.
No, I am being unfair, Alyson thought, and deliberately scored through the last sentence. Above the scratch of the quill, she heard voices. Swiftly, hoping the ink would not smudge, she rolled up the parchment and placed it under her pillow, preparing to greet her maids.
Gytha and Osmoda helped her out of bed and down the stairs to the bathhouse. “Your lord wanted to bathe you himself,” Gytha was saying, “but I told him no ””
“Gytha, you had no right.”
Her nurse clicked her tongue. “You would have him see you with a pus-filled shoulder?”
“It is not pus-filled!” Alyson panted. She was rapidly growing weary with even this brief outing and her legs trembled and ached. Supporting her under her right elbow, Gytha shook her head.
“Believe me, my lady, a little mystery is just what you need,” she said. “Think of the ladies of Outremer, with their veiled faces. Think of the womenfolk of the infidel, hidden behind the latticed shutters of their harems, courted by pining musicians and poets who fall in love with their very shadows ”” Gytha had also listened to Guillelm’s tales.
Alyson was too breathless to answer.
Later, in the bath, she asked, “Has my lord seen me?”
Osmoda, more simple than Gytha, said, “What do you mean?” but Gytha understood. “He has seen and he knows all, my lady,” she answered firmly. “I told him.”
“Gytha!”
“It needed to be said,” her nurse responded, folding her arms across her broad bosom and tapping her foot. “He saw the marks! Would you have Guillelm think it was your father who had treated you so?”
Alyson cowered in the tub. “Does he think me ugly?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
“No,” said Osmoda, too quickly.
“We should wash your hair. There is still blood on it,” said Gytha.
“Gytha?”
Her nurse lifted a kitchen ladle and gestured for Alyson to bow her head. Alyson sighed as the warm water streamed over her hair and bounced on her shoulder. The water made the wound itch less and for that she was glad, but not for Gytha’s stubborn silence. “Gytha, please.”
“I swore to my lord that I would not tell you, but if you knew what he was doing for you, you would put such foolish ideas out of your mind.” Gytha poured another ladleful of water over Alyson’s back. “Wait and see, my lady,” she said, relenting a little. “Have faith.”
Chapter 18
Word had gone out: Lord Guillelm de La Rochelle was hosting jousts at Hardspen. The peddlers arrived before the knights-such travelers always seemed to catch the news first-and when they had pitched their tents and stalls within the bailey and laid out their wares, Guillelm sought out Alyson on her roof garden.
He found her clipping the lavender and frowned. She clicked her fingers at him. “I am strong enough to do this, my lord. You need not scowl.”
Guillelm snorted and threaded his thumbs through his belt, wanting to kiss her and more. She was not quite her nimble self and her face still had a pale, gaunt cast, but she was healing.
He took the pouch from his belt and swung it before her puzzled eyes. “You need to keep your strength so that you can carry this,” he said, dropping the pouch into her free hand.
“This is heavy, dragon”
“As is any bag of gold. Are you going to put that knife down and come with me?”
Her eyes sparkled. “To where? Why do I need a bag of gold?”
He grinned. “To visit the traders” Guillelm rippled his fingers at her. “Shall we go shopping, sweetheart?”
She smiled, tilting her head to one side in that endearing way that always made his stomach flutter and his heart race. “Will one bag of gold be sufficient?” she teased.
“It had better be, wench”
Walking steadily so as not to overtire her, Guillelm wandered about the bailey with Alyson. The traders had indeed come, and more of them than he had hoped: lithe, brightly clad folk with marvelous goods and news. Barter for local wool, leather and beer for flint, cooking pots and salt was in full swing. Children darted amongst the crowds of cottars and villagers, hawking beads and linen ribbons.
Arm in arm, like any other young couple, Guillelm and Alyson strolled about. Clutching the bag of gold made her fingers ache after a while and so Guillelm took it back, joking that now he had the purse strings again. Alyson meanwhile took a lively interest in everything, pausing to admire the goods spread over the grass. She stood for a time watching the sun on new cups and basins-so long that Guillelm was taken from her side by some matter of land rights.
Alyson walked on, shaking her head at a woman who offered her armloads of furs. She passed Sericus, head down in the thick of haggling for pepper, then quickened her step, drawn by a mass of people round one trader.
Even at the rear of the crowd she could see over most heads if she stood on tiptoe. The trader, recognizing the small, dark beauty as the lady of the castle, pointed with a slim hand. “Lady, if you will, I shall show you gems worthy of your breeding. For you, there is nothing more fitting than garnets” He spread a necklace like a magic mist over his fingers and showed a brooch in the palm of his hand.
Alyson moved in slowly through the crowd. Though she had longed to find a bookstall where perhaps she would discover a manuscript that would please her sister-Guillelm would have this brooch; the dark fire of the gemstones matched his eyes.
The necklace of red stones was given to her to touch, the trader holding a pair of looped earrings beside her hair. Too late, as he placed the jewelry on her open palm, Alyson jerked back her hand. The garnets dropped on the ground between them.
“Forgive me, I cannot take them,” she said, dry mouthed. She was too ashamed to admit that although she was lady of Hardspen, she had no means to reward the trader.
Alyson swung round and moved back into the crowd, almost trampling Edwin the shepherd in her haste. She begged his pardon and would have gone, but the man called her back.
“I owe you for helping me,” he said, dark eyes sharp, and with no further words to her, Edwin began bargaining. He got both brooch and necklace for a lamb, shrugging off Alyson’s thanks. “Give them to the lady,” he told the trader and turned his back on the affair.
Warily, the trader dropped the pieces into her hands. The crowd applauded, and Alyson felt a change amongst those watching. She looked up into Guillelm’s face and smiled, and he held out his hand to her.
“I have something to show you that will match those jewels,” he said. “In that large tent close to where the juggler is performing.” His eyes crinkled in private amusement. “Come”
The striped tent was owned by a clothier and his wife and, clearly against Alyson’s arrival, they had set out several gowns on their long polished trestle table for her to consider.
“Take any or all,” Guillelm instructed in a low voice. “Do not worry about payment”
Alyson ran a finger over the fur collar of a winter gown. “These are my size,” she murmured, and looked closely at her husband, paring his fingernails with a knife. “I have missed my perse-colored gown these past few days,” she remarked.
He shrugged. “After your … skirmish with the archer, that dress was nothing but rags. I took it away.”
“To give to these good people as a template?” Alyson asked softly. She tugged on Guillelm’s sleeve, made him duck his head as she hissed into his ear, “Have you had these poor folk laboring with their needles all night?”
“Hardly!” Guillelm answered at once. “They have been here two days and, if you must know, I gave them your gown when they arrived.” He bent his lips to her ear. “If the clothier’s wife looks a trifle red about the eyes, it may be because last night she and her man were drinking in the great hall till the early hours. You heard nothing of that feast because you were already snoring when I carried you to our chamber.”
“You cannot silence me by embarrassment, my lord.”
/> “No, but I can make you blush,” said Guillelm, releasing her with a gentle tweak of her sleeve. “What do you think of the scarlet dress? Or that one in white and gold? Or the green and yellow?”
Alyson had never bought clothes before-nor did she now, she thought wryly, for Guillelm insisted on paying for a whole trunkload of gowns, undershifts, veils, ribbons and cloaks. When she laughingly protested at the cost, Guillelm countered, “How can you grant me favors at the forthcoming jousts and wrestling matches, if you have no fresh combs? How can you meet your friend Petronilla, or Lady Edith, if you have no new gowns? How is your shoulder?” he added slyly.
She burst out laughing. “You ask me how I am, after such bounty? A joust here? Dragon, you give me so much” In truth, the idea of a joust alarmed her, though she knew it to be a true manly sport, but to know that Guillelm had taken the trouble to find her oldest friends, to invite them here to Hardspen, when Lord Robert had driven Edith’s messengers away—
Suddenly she was weeping into her hands, overwhelmed. “Forgive me,” she managed to whisper from her closing throat and then she was conscious of being bundled, gently but firmly, out of the tent. Although the day was warm, Guillelm swept his cloak around both of them, shielding her from curious faces.
“Now what is it, sweet?” he asked, scooping a tendril of hair away from her eyes.
“Nothing! But to see my friends again, after so many seasons … and a joust here … Men die in such things.” Alyson gulped, aware she was making little sense. She wanted to beg him to take care but was afraid he might be offended, think her interfering. She took another deep breath and tried again. “My shoulder is healing well, thank you, my lord.”
“So, we are full of the Eastern courtesies I told you of, are we? I think I prefer a more English informality.” Guillelm wrapped the ends of his cloak more tightly about her narrow shoulders, pulling her closer. “Like this.”
“People will see!” Alyson exclaimed, at once scandalized and delighted.
“Indeed,” Guillelm said gruffly, ashamed as he misinterpreted her moment of freezing delight as fear. Their meeting, which had begun so excellently, seemed to be going from bad to worse. “Please forgive my action. It was foolish.”
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