“Good. Remember your lessons then, for the punishment here will be no less great, and you will bear it alone. But as to lying, we must begin that at once. For my own reasons, I wish to avoid the queen’s ladies as much as possible. Therefore, I will tell the queen that Sir Bruno has burdened me with a singularly stupid and clumsy maid whom I must train as if she were a dog.” I nodded. “Your bruises may be useful. You might show a few of the smaller ones to some of the other maidservants to prove you have been punished for stupidity. Since you say you know well how to lie, I will leave it to you to explain where Bruno found you and why you speak French. But be sure to tell one tale and hold fast to it, since you will live with the other servants and many will repeat the tale to their ladies.”
I sounded more confident than I actually felt because I had no idea how a servant was recognized and given the right to eat at table and a place to sleep in this great place. Therefore I had no choice but to explain my problem to the queen, and I was by no means sure Maud would agree to my having a maid who was not in her service. Nor was I at all certain what I should say if she questioned me about the journey north Bruno had mentioned. North was all I allowed myself to think, but in me there was a terrible longing for the place I dared not name, a terrible longing and an equally terrible fear.
After I had taken my morning meal to the darkest corner I could find, I watched for a moment when the queen was alone and approached her. She seemed surprised that I should willingly open a conversation with her but did not mention my going to Jernaeve, which made me suspect she did not know. Remembering how she had had me watched and that Bruno had said I had tried to escape in the past, I pushed my knowledge of our journey to the back of my mind and spoke of Edna as if I expected to remain with the court.
Maud smiled with her lips—I think to hide what she was thinking because I could get no impression of any kind of feeling—but she only said, “Of course you must have a maid of your own if your husband is willing to pay for her,” and then told me which of her gentlemen managed meals and quarters for her ladies’ maidservants.
I remembered then that when Papa went to swear fealty to Stephen—that was before Mildred died—he had complained that a charge had been levied on him for food and lodging for his grooms and horses, grumbling about the mean-fisted hospitality of English kings compared to the treatment of guests at the Scottish court when he was a young man. I had not thought of Edna costing anything beyond what worn out garments I chose to give her because when I went with Papa to Carlisle or Richmond we had lodged in a private house, our servants with us. A small qualm of conscience passed through me, for I knew Bruno had little and a maid might be a burden on his purse, but I said nothing of that to the queen, who might think I was begging to be spared the expense.
In addition, Maud’s near disinterest in whether my maid was one of her own servants reminded me that the queen was probably sure she could discover anything she needed to know from a maid whether or not the woman was in her service. I was not certain that Maud would be as successful in penetrating the practiced lies of a whore as she thought; nonetheless, I would take no chances and tell Edna to be very careful of the queen and speak only the truth to her—unless I bade her profess ignorance.
The idea coursing through my head had made me slow to reply, and Maud tapped my arm with an impatient finger, bidding me sharply not to play slow-witted again. I begged pardon, assuring her I had no intention of doing so, and then presented my excuse for remaining much of the time in my own chamber. This time, Maud raised her brows as she looked at me, and I found myself blushing.
“That is not true, madam,” I admitted. “Edna cannot sew, but otherwise she is a most deft maid. I do wish to teach her to sew, but—but I really desire to hide myself from your ladies.” Stumblingly, I confessed that I could not bear to be treated like an idiot any longer but feared their rage if they should come to believe I had been mocking them by pretending to be foolish.
The queen’s expression was very strange as she listened, but she only said, “Very well. You have had no duties in the months you have been with me, so you will cause me no inconvenience if you absent yourself for a few days. However, you cannot hide forever.”
“I thought I would change little by little,” I said, “as if—” I could feel myself blushing again. “—as if marriage had wakened me.”
“Very well,” the queen repeated, both face and voice completely devoid of expression now. “You may go.”
At dinner I learned that the king had gone hunting, taking with him the servants on duty, which meant that Bruno had gone too. It was a great relief to me, for I hated the thought of seeming ungracious and ungrateful for his kindness, and yet I dared not let myself accept it. Too late I discovered that sitting alone in my chamber was no better than being treated like an idiot. I had never been bored at Ulle; usually there was too much to do, and a few idle moments were a blessed relief.
There were things I could have done; Bruno needed a night-robe and in court a woman always needs clothing and pretty new embroidered girdles or sleeve cuffs, but I had no cloth or fine embroidery thread and nothing with which to purchase any. It had not occurred to me to ask Bruno for money, and I would not have done so even if the idea had come to me. I knew he did not trust me and might think I wanted the coin for some secret evil purpose. I could not imagine what evil I could accomplish in a place where I knew no one but a few women who all thought me a fool. Yet it troubled me that he should not trust me, and I knew if he refused me I could never feel the same toward him. I remember putting my hands to my head when I thought that and wondering what I meant.
Before the second day ended, I considered going to the queen and asking for duties to be assigned to me, but I dared not do that lest she use my new employment as a reason to forbid my accompanying Bruno when he went north. Altogether, he was too often in my mind over the three very long, dull days that passed. In fact I began to long for what I had at first feared, and when Edna came flying from the hall to tell me that the hunt had been sighted nearing the castle, I forgot all my doubts about my husband. I ran out into the bailey to meet the returning huntsmen and greeted Bruno with delight, my heart warm with having a man of my own to welcome.
And I must say that he made all too easy what had burdened my spirit for the days he had been gone. Our talk had been so pleasant and I was so excited by the huge boar Bruno had killed, that I mentioned my brothers while I was assuring him I was a good physician. The pang of grief I felt when I remembered that I would never heal any of them again made me close my eyes and catch my breath. Again Bruno offered comfort, but I was not overcome as I had been on Monday night, and I assured him I would not let that happen again. I still had no idea how to avoid thanking him for comforting me, then and now, but before I could say anything he changed the subject to Edna.
That effectively quenched any gratitude I felt in an icy rage, but I had to swallow my renewed suspicion quickly. If I displayed it, Bruno would have reason to think me jealous—and what reason could I have? Should not an unwilling wife be grateful that her husband vented his lust on another woman? I swallowed down any expression of my rage to salve my pride; still, if I discovered that the tale Edna had told me had been concocted between her and Bruno so that he might have his whore at hand, I would…I had no idea what I would do, but I promised myself that neither of them would find it pleasant.
Fortunately, my rage was diverted by the arrival of a group of gentlemen who had not accompanied the hunt and wished to compliment Bruno on having made one of the greatest kills. He made nothing of it, turning the feat into a jest and making them laugh with a tale of how he tripped on his own feet in his eagerness to cut the beast’s throat and was trampled for his clumsiness. I could see that he is of that kind of man who can never bear to be too much noticed—Andrew and Fergus were like that and Magnus too, but for a different reason—and before I considered what I was doing I had drawn the t
alk away, just as I had always done for them.
Once I began to talk to Bruno’s friends, I forgot how angry I had been. It was very pleasant to be part of a group of men talking about such things as we all enjoyed—hunting in general and the use and care of the hawks and horses and dogs that were so much a part of that sport. I drew from each man his special knowledge and opinions, from Bruno some remarks on the training and flying of the great hawks of the north, but he was shy at first. Later he talked more freely—it was the training of horses that sparked his deepest interest—but all the time, without my noticing at all, he had been edging us to the door closest to the guesthouse. I was near speechless when he drove off the other gentlemen with a jest about desiring only my company at this hour of the evening, and led me in.
I could not refuse to go with Bruno without making myself ridiculous, but I entered the chamber prepared to defend myself, to resist as well as I could any attempt on Bruno’s part to void his promise and force me to couple. Instead of seizing me, however, he began to talk about the journey north and his fear that if the king or queen were reminded too often of our going by courtiers’ gossip, they might place restrictions on our route of travel. I understood that he was trying to warn me to say nothing of his plan to take me to Ulle without mentioning the place—and realized with surprise that I had thought of going there without horror, although there was still pain. So I said as shortly as I could that I was not a fool and changed the subject to the bruises he had received when he killed the boar.
The man is a devil! His face—if one is diverted from the hunger that lies under every other expression—is open and innocent; his dark eyes are sometimes wary but more often soft with kindness or bright with laughter. Bruno was not handsome to my eyes, not with the brilliant beauty of my red-haired, blue-eyed father and brothers. He was more like Magnus—that should have warned me; laughing or caressing, Magnus’s clever mind always held firm to its own purposes. But I never thought of Magnus.
Despite the warning I had had in overhearing Maud’s ladies speak of Bruno’s knowledge of women and despite his open admission, in my presence, of his intention to the men he had dismissed from our company, I was beguiled completely. Only an accident saved me from falling headlong into the trap of lust that he set. He set? Or did I set that trap myself and Bruno only sprang it? It was I who bade him take off his clothes; he only used my own pride—but is that not the devil’s favorite weapon?—to draw me to him, even after I saw his staff upright, its head bare in lust. I had never before seen a man so, but I knew what it was and what it meant from what rutting male beasts exposed.
Only Bruno is no beast; he is a clever devil. He would not let me put from my mind what I had seen, but fixed my attention on that standing rod, taking away any fearfulness I might have felt by making me want to laugh. Monsieur Jehan de la Tête Rouge, indeed! And talking of that part of him as if it were an independent personage with feelings and desires separate from his own. So instead of running to hide myself and being revolted by that swollen shaft, I actually came closer, finding Monsieur amusing. I felt again that warmth and trembling within me—perhaps I even knew then that it was desire, not fear—but I was too curious to be warned, so curious I had to press my hand on Bruno’s ribs to keep myself from reaching down to touch Monsieur de la Tête Rouge.
Devil! Bruno knew what I felt, I am sure of it, and he bent and kissed my nose. It was a disarming caress, full of warmth and tenderness; it was also Papa’s favorite affectionate gesture when I was close, brushing dirt from his clothes or looking at something he was holding. Had it not been for that, Bruno would have had me then and there. As it was, the web he had been weaving around me broke and I jumped away.
Devil! He knew enough not to pursue me and to call again on my pride to smother my fear—not of him but of my own rising passion. Like a fool, I stood up to him, answering roundly the excuses he made for tempting me. Thus I let him beguile me again, for he set aside the issue of our coupling, as if he had been defeated, and then, while my pride still blinded me, he challenged my usefulness as a woman, asking, as if with contempt, whether I could make ready for our journey in one day.
In pointing out those things he had overlooked, or seemed to have overlooked—and in my joy at his promise that I could ride a horse of my own rather than being jounced in a cart like a servant girl—I all but forgot how he had made me want him. Without thinking, I ran to him for comfort when fear of finding more pain than I could bear at Ulle struck me. I thought the unruly ideas he had planted in my head were gone—until he began to unlace my gown. There was no hint of Monsieur’s desire in what he did, but that wicked warm trembling began in me again. This time I had strength enough to flee—and that devil turned his back on me and was fast asleep before I had lit the night candle and snuffed the others.
It took all my strength, after I had lain awake some while, still warm, still wanting, to refrain from putting my foot in the middle of his back and shoving him out of the bed. I thought about it with longing, imagining his rude awakening, his shout of surprise and perhaps pain if he landed on his bruised side. I even began to believe it would be worth the beating he would undoubtedly give me—but what if instead of beating me, that devil understood. If he kissed my mouth, which Papa never did, would I have sense and strength to flee him again or would I yield to the curiosity of my treacherous body?
Desperately, I tried to stop thinking about that infuriating man and fixed my mind on the problems of our journey. The diversion became preeminent when it suddenly occurred to me that more trouble would arise from keeping the trip north a secret than from telling Maud about it. It was possible that the queen would forbid my going altogether or forbid Bruno to take me to Ulle, but I did not think so. For the first, I doubted she would openly forbid anything for which the king’s permission had been obtained. As to going to Ulle, I was quite certain it would not enter her mind that Bruno would consider taking me there, so it was unlikely she would forbid it. On the other side of the coin was the picture the queen would see if she heard of that journey by accident—a black picture of my deceitfulness.
I intended to speak to Bruno about this notion, to ask him what I was to do about Edna to whom I had promised service only this morning, whether he wanted me to arrange for carting or storage, how to do so, and a million other details, but of course he was gone by the time I woke. I do not know what annoyed me more—Bruno’s ability to slip away without a sound or a quiver of the mattress or my own stupidity in forgetting to tell him to wake me when he woke. I suppose I looked like a thundercloud when I went to the queen’s hall to break my fast, although I was not aware of it until Maud crooked a finger at me and gestured to the lady with her to leave us alone. “You are much more amusing now that you have—so to speak—come into our world,” the queen said, smiling at me as I made a small bow. “Certainly you do not trouble to wear a courtier’s face. Tell me, Melusine, who or what has displeased you?”
“I am more worried than displeased, madam,” I replied, cursing myself for my carelessness and wishing I had the player’s skill with which Maud credited me.
I dared not even lick my lips, although my mouth had dried with nervousness. I no longer had the choice of discussing with Bruno whether it would be better to tell the queen. I must speak now or not tell her at all.
“Bruno told me last night that he is to carry a message north for the king and that I am to go with him,” I went on, trying to keep the frown on my face unchanged so that Maud would not read my anxiety.
“And you do not wish to go?” Maud asked without inflection.
“Oh yes,” I cried, “I do wish to go, but I am sure I must beg leave of you, madam, and I can give you no further explanation. Bruno told me no more than I have already repeated.”
The queen looked at me with no more expression than there had been in her voice. There was no way to judge whether she believed what I had said, although in a way it was tru
e since Bruno had not explained the king’s purpose.
“I hope you will grant me leave,” I went on. “Since I have no duties, I am sure my absence would cause you no hardship—” I glanced quickly over my shoulder and lowered my voice to be sure I would not be overheard, “—and being away would solve my problem with your ladies. I suppose most of those attending you now will leave and others, who do not know me, will come before we return—Bruno said he had leave for two months. But even if I am wrong about that, surely the ladies will forget so small and unimportant a matter as my behavior or understand that the travel and excitement had changed me.”
“What a clever girl you are, Melusine,” Maud remarked so blandly that a chill ran up my spine. “I find you much more interesting than most other women.”
“Please let me go, madam,” I whispered. “I am sure you will find me more interesting still when I do not need to hide myself for most of the day.”
“Oh…” The queen drew out the sound until, though soft, it rang with irony. “So you intend to return?”
I stared at her, blank with fear and then asked, “Where else have I to go?” The question brought a brief look of surprise to Maud’s face, and wildly seeking any topic that would keep her from asking me a direct question about Ulle, I blurted out, “And I do not know what is mine to take. I have several grand gowns in my chest that are new. Are those to be returned to you, madam? The bed, I am sure, was lent, but is it to stay in that chamber or should it be packed away? And do I need a tally to mark that I have returned what was lent?”
“The gowns are yours,” Maud snapped. “Two were given to you by Stephen to make you less sad, and your wedding gown was my gift. Why do you continue to pretend that you do not remember?”
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