She smiled, her blue eyes dancing, and keeping hold of his hand, she replied, ‘She will be more than happy to permit you to escort her, Sir Wulfstan.’
And so he took her little hand in his, and led her into the great hall, leaving Ranulf to gape open-mouthed at their retreating backs. Dinner was not yet served, and he led her – or did she lead him? – to a seat against the wall; she sat down, and he sat on her left, aware of the warmth of her, the fragrance of her body that made him think of ripe, sun-warmed fruit. In response to her questions about the Battle of Poitiers and capture of the French king, he said he had only been at the scene by chance. King John and his son were now living at the magnificent Savoy Palace in the Strand, under house arrest.
‘Though they’ll probably be sent to some great manor house when the Savoy’s needed again,’ she said. ‘There’s an enormous ransom on their heads – a king’s ransom indeed!’
Wulfstan had hitherto privately thought it hardly fair to demand such a huge amount from a country which had already been so pitilessly plundered, but he simply nodded, entranced by her smiles, her voice, her obvious interest in him. Surely he must be dreaming! But no, she was speaking to him, asking him questions.
‘Does your wounded arm hurt very much?’ she asked him. ‘I pray that it may soon be healed.’
Wulfstan had faced the fact that he might never regain the use of his arm which was shrinking and becoming discoloured, though he still hoped for the shoulder to heal and stop giving him pain; but he thanked her for her kindness, and said he hoped that it might be so.
‘Such bravery deserves reward,’ she said, smiling up at him, and he could think of no reply, merely inclined his head.
Dinner was being served on the long tables, and at her prompting he led her to the smaller round table where the Prince sat with members of his inner circle. The lady immediately gained the Prince’s attention.
‘Ah, Lady Mildred, I see that you have captured the bravest of my knights, and the comeliest! I trust that you will grant him the favours he has earned!’
Wulfstan coloured, and lowered his eyes, unable to meet hers; but she gave a little silvery laugh and told the Prince that she had several favours to ask of Sir Wulfstan, at which the company laughed. If he was being teased, Wulfstan did not mind, for to be seated beside this exquisite creature who so openly displayed the warmth of her feelings for him was a new and heady experience; and knowing that the wound he had gained in battle was the reason for her attention, he felt some compensation for the pain. He would find it easier to bear, a burden turned into a blessing, a badge of honour nobly won and to be nobly borne, for her sake. She was enchanting!
Looking at the faces around the table, he saw some of them whispering to each other; were they speculating on the favours the lady was to bestow on him? His head whirled.
‘I beg your pardon, Sir Wulfstan,’ said a young gallant seated near to him, ‘but would you care to look some time at a specially fine broadcloth made from the wool of English sheep and woven here in London? There is no finer cloth in Europe, and a whole bevy of sempstresses make it up into tunics and cote-hardies for the court.’
Lady Mildred nodded towards the speaker and added her approval.
‘Yes, Sir Guy Hamald is quite right, Wulfstan, and I insist that you take up his offer! You’re no longer just a soldier returned from the war, wearing a worn black cloak with the seams unravelling, and though it has done you good service, it is time that such chivalry be rewarded by a new wardrobe. Show him the material, Guy, and I will match it with silk and velvet – and call upon my embroidresses!’
Wulfstan murmured his thanks, bewildered though he was by such generosity. He felt her blue gaze upon him, and returned her smile, suddenly conscious of his dull colours, his undoubted shabbiness in comparison with the rich fabrics of the others at the Prince’s table; why had he not noticed before? The Wynstedes had never been ostentatious in their dress, being solid country gentry who managed their estates, working with their bailiffs, the women sharing the upbringing of their children with their nursemaids. But now he was a knight of the realm, seated at table with the heir to the throne, and it was time to look worthy of his status. He thanked Sir Guy Hamald for his recommendation of the broadcloth, and Lady Mildred for her offer of help with the stitching and embroidering. He did not notice the smiles that passed between the diners. Lady Mildred’s smile was the only one he saw, and he basked in its glow.
A new wardrobe was duly designed for him: with the help of the Lady Mildred and the young knight known as Guy Hamald, he became the possessor of three colourful tunics, three soft linen shirts and a fur-edged russet cote-hardie that hung from his shoulders to the floor, its sleeves wide and flowing, with the fashionable dagged edging, cut into points.
Ranulf Ormiston was both amused and impressed. ‘You’ll be leading the fair Mildred in the dances,’ he remarked, and immediately checked himself, remembering his friend’s injury, his lack of an arm. Wulfstan had already thought of this, and told Ranulf not to worry on his account, because he could dance well enough, and hold his lady’s hand as they trod the measures to the music of sackbut and cymbals. ‘The difficulty is knowing what to do with my left arm,’ he confessed. ‘Shall I keep it under my clothes, and tuck the sleeves inwards, so that my lack of an arm can be seen by all? Or should I push it into the sleeve, and let it hang loose, for it has no movement? I could wear a glove on the hand – or cover it with extra lace on the cuff. What do you think?’
In envious admiration of his friend for gaining the Lady Mildred’s favour, Ranulf tried first one way, and then the other, but drew in a breath of shock and dismay when he saw the left arm uncovered. It was shorter than the right, and shrunken; the flesh was discoloured, mottled white and brown, and the fingers curled inwards – like a claw, thought Ranulf, and hurriedly hid the thought under a grin, suggesting it might be better to put the arm into a sleeve, and then support it with a sling; that way there could be no misunderstanding.
‘The lady can put her left hand into your right, and off you’ll go, prancing side by side down the line of dance,’ he said. ‘Yes, with such fine apparel, she won’t be able to resist you, Sir Wulfstan!’
‘At least the damned arm doesn’t hurt any more,’ said Wulfstan wryly, ‘but I fear it may never heal to do its work like the other.’
Ranulf did not reply. He saw and knew beyond any doubt that the withered arm would never be of use, but thought his friend should be left to face this fact for himself.
As the spring advanced, Wulfstan lived in a world of incredulous joy. Surely it could not be true that Lady Mildred loved him as he knew he loved her – and yet it must be true. He saw it in her eyes, her responses to his shy advances; when he put his arm around her slender waist, she drew close against him; when he daringly covered one of her soft, ample breasts with his hand, she sighed and whispered his name. It was the first time he had experienced the heady sensation of being in love, and to be loved in return. His seduction by Madame la Gouvernante had been coldly and deliberately planned by Monseigneur and Madame Duclair, and pretty little Dorine had been too young and innocent – and too much under her mother’s rule – to return his advances. But Mildred, beautiful, ravishing Mildred, made no secret of her feelings, and when they kissed in a corner of the corridor near the door of her room, he felt that life could hold no greater bliss: but he wanted more, much more . . .
And so did she, unashamedly, not pretending to any false modesty. She clung to him, leaning her head upon his left shoulder, and he gave no sign of the pain it caused; he would have endured torture rather than rebuff her in the slightest degree. They stood there, listening to each other’s heartbeat, and then she whispered, ‘Come to my room tonight, dearest Wulfstan, after dark when they’re all either in bed or drinking and gaming downstairs. I shall send my maid away, and be there, waiting for you.’
‘I’ll be there for you, sweetest Mildred. Kiss me again.’ They exchanged one last, lingering kiss
before parting, and he was transported into a different world: surely heaven’s high bliss held no greater happiness than this? He wanted no supper that evening, nor could he settle to any kind of activity with his companions; he wanted only to be alone until he could be with her. He went outside and gazed at the sunset, herald of a fine day tomorrow. Oh, Mildred, Mildred – how suddenly you have come into my life, and taken it over! Let me be worthy of you . . .
The hour came at last. The palace was quiet except for the distant sound of voices down in the hall. He climbed the stone stairs leading to the corridor at the end of which her bedchamber lay in darkness. He took off his shoes, and stood before the door, bracing himself to knock softly: she immediately murmured on the other side, ‘Come, Wulfstan.’ The door was unlocked and he entered, closing it behind him – and then stood transfixed at what he saw. She was waiting for him, her eyes dark in the light of a single candle by the bedside. And she was completely naked; her golden hair cascaded on to her shoulders, her beautiful breasts were waiting for his touch, her lips were parted ready for his kiss. His knees went weak in the presence of the enchantress. She drew him towards the bed, gently lifted his tunic off over his head, and began to unlace his shirt. His left arm was covered by a sling that hung from his neck. He hesitated a moment, then carefully took off his shirt, removed his braies and hose, and got on to the bed beside her. They were panting with anticipation, breathless with their mutual desire. Her hand was on his belly, then lightly slithered down to touch his member, erect and rigid, for he was ready to enter her and know the supreme pleasure of sharing his body with a beloved woman. Soon, soon, he would be there!
‘Wait, Wulfstan,’ she whispered, pulling herself up against a feather pillow. ‘Let me love all of you – your poor arm, wounded in the service of the Black Prince. Let me take off the sling and kiss it – oh, let me kiss it, Wulfstan.’
‘No – no, Mildred,’ he almost groaned, not wanting any further delay; but she pulled the sling from around his neck, and his arm flopped on to the sheet, mottled and leathery as the arm of a corpse and as lifeless, the fingers stiffened into a claw. As soon as she saw it she recoiled with a suppressed shriek.
‘Oh, my God, what is it?’ she cried. ‘Is it a snake? Oh, don’t bring it near me!’
This was an unforeseen interruption to Wulfstan’s all-consuming lust. Her desire which had matched his own had given place to something very different, and he put out his right arm to soothe her, to take her hand and reassure her. His Mildred.
‘Don’t touch me with that thing! Get off my bed, go away!’ she shouted in panic.
Her voice rose hysterically, and he withdrew his hand, moving further down the bed, away from her; but his privy member, heavily erect, could not contain itself, and he groaned involuntarily as it emptied warm, sticky fluid on to the sheet and over her feet. She screamed again, covering her face with her hands.
‘Go away! Leave me alone! For God’s sake, go, go, go!’
Shaking with the aftermath of losing his seed and seeing the look of revulsion on her face, he got off the bed and found his braies on the floor. Blindly trying to reorientate his thoughts, he pulled them on and picked up the rest of his clothes.
‘Go away!’ she shouted again, and he had no choice but to leave the room, dressed only in his braies and carrying his new and costly garments over his much put-upon right arm. He prayed that he would not meet anybody on the corridor as he made his way back to the room he shared with Ormiston, carousing with companions in the hall below. He sat down on his wooden-framed bed, his senses still reeling, his heart still pounding in his chest. His head began to clear, and he realized that the beautiful Lady Mildred Points was no longer his. She would never be his, not now; he could not be her gallant knight and defend her. The cruel words of Madame Merlette came back to him: Defend us? You couldn’t defend a dog! He was a cripple, a one-armed man, no use as a soldier, no use as a lover. He would have to leave the palace and the Prince’s service, for his war wound counted for nothing now, less than nothing; it had become a hideous curse. He sat on the low bed and stared into space, rejected and abashed.
Queen Philippa was shocked and disbelieving.
‘But it’s so out of character, Mildred. My son has always praised Sir Wulfstan for his chivalry, his courtesy to ladies of high and low degree.’
‘I thought so too, Your Grace – I was pleased to be noticed by such a noble knight,’ sobbed her lady-in-waiting. ‘But last night was so shocking, so shaming – I cannot bear to recall it!’
‘Calm yourself, Mildred, and answer me. What time was this? Was it after the household had gone to bed, apart from those foolish young men who spend half the night carousing in the hall?’
‘Yes, Your Grace, I was retiring to my bedchamber, and he followed me there.’
‘Followed you? Into your bedchamber? Where was your maid?’
‘I told her she could go to her sister’s room and minister to her. She has a fever and a cough, Your Grace.’
‘Really? Didn’t you think that the maid might bring back infection with her?’
‘Yes, that’s why I told her she could stay overnight in her sister’s room, Your Grace.’
‘So you sent your maid away, and Sir Wulfstan followed you to your bedchamber. Did he attempt to enter it with you?’
‘Yes, Your Grace, he overcame my resistance and said he . . . said he wanted to make love to me,’ replied Mildred with a fresh outburst of crying. ‘I thought he would show more restraint, but he picked me up and threw me on the bed, and . . . oh, Your Grace, it was so awful, so shameful, I was frightened out of my wits!’
The Queen looked upon the distraught young woman, and foresaw the enormity of the scandal that would ensue if her words were proved to be true. Sir Wulfstan might be disgraced and stripped of his knighthood, banished from the Prince’s circle for ever.
‘Were there any witnesses?’ she asked.
‘No, Your Grace, not at that time of night, or I would have cried out for assistance.’
The Queen nodded, pursing up her lips as she considered the situation. ‘I must ask you, Lady Mildred, if you encouraged him in any way?’
‘No, no, your Grace, I—’
The Queen held up her hand. ‘Listen to me, Mildred. We all know that you and Sir Wulfstan have been much in each other’s company, and have thought you to be in love. In fact, many men have envied Sir Wulfstan for his conquest. It would not be so remarkable if you had decided to make love, though it would need to be confessed to a priest. I shall ask you again – was it your intention to couple with him?’
Lady Mildred hesitated, then answered tearfully, ‘It was his intention, Your Grace, but not mine – oh, the sight of that horrible fleshy thing, all wrinkled and discoloured and dangling over the bed – it was . . . oh, Your Grace, it was such a hideous sight!’
‘Good God, Mildred, do you mean that he was undone and showing his privy member?’ Queen Philippa remembered court gossip about Lady Mildred Points on past occasions, and doubted this was the first time the lady had looked upon a man’s nakedness.
‘Er, no, Your Grace, it was his arm, a hideous thing like a poisonous snake—’
‘His arm, Mildred? You mean his left arm, injured by the wound he received at Poitiers? Did he take it out of the sling? Speak up, young woman, for it sounds as if there was horseplay on both sides.’
‘Forgive me, Your Grace, I never expected to see such a fearsome thing!’ Mildred started sobbing again, but Queen Philippa’s face was stern.
‘I’ll ask you again, Mildred, and I want the truth. Did Sir Wulfstan remove his arm from the sling, or did you?’
‘I’m sorry, Your Grace, please forgive me, he let me untie it, and I . . . oh, the sight of—’
‘Enough. I shall have to tell my son the Prince what you say happened, and he will deal with Sir Wulfstan. He was at fault in entering your bedchamber, but I suspect you must take your share of the blame, and I shall have you sent back to Sir Hump
hrey Points.’
‘No, Your Grace, no!’ pleaded Mildred. ‘I trusted him, I never thought he would attempt to ravish me! Please, oh please let me stay at court—’
‘You may leave me, Mildred,’ the Queen replied coldly. ‘My son will question Sir Wulfstan, and take what steps he sees fit. You are dismissed.’
‘Oh, please, Your Grace, I’ll take back all I said, if only—’
‘Be quiet. You may leave me – at once.’
‘So, Sir Wulfstan Wynstede, I have heard shocking news of you from my mother the Queen. Yes, I see you’re ashamed, and so you should be. Have you anything to say in your defence? Come on, boy, speak up!’
‘My liege lord, I am ashamed indeed,’ mumbled Wulfstan with bowed head, so not seeing the Prince’s teasing eyes. ‘I ask permission to leave the court as soon as I may.’
‘What? Take away my scrivener and treasurer? Poor Baldoc is hardly a substitute, and I shall soon be moving my whole household to my castle at Berkhamsted. Must you desert me at such a time?’
‘I cannot stay to be the butt of the court, my liege.’
‘Ah, so you admit to being a very poor lover, then, failing to please a lady.’
On hearing this, Wulfstan’s humiliation was complete. ‘It was not my intention to uncover the accursed thing, my liege.’
‘What? Are you saying that the lady uncovered it? And that it was as wrinkled as leather and shrunk to half its size? God’s bones, I don’t wonder that it frightened the poor woman!’ The Prince could no longer suppress his laughter, and Wulfstan raised his head to see the merriment on his master’s face. A remnant of dignity stirred his response.
‘You may find my withered arm amusing, my liege, but I have no wish to provide the court with entertainment, nor do I want to see the Lady Mildred again. Dismiss me now, or I shall have to quit the court without permission.’
‘Sit down, sit down, Wulfstan, and let us be finished with misunderstandings. I beg your pardon for my misplaced mirth, but won’t dismiss you. You’re far too useful to me.’
Every Noble Knight Page 11