by Jean Plaidy
One of the women of the household arrived to say that on the instructions of my lady she had come to help her dress. My lady had set out a gown for her as her own would not yet be unpacked.
Mary was astonished at the splendour of the garment. The surcoat was of fine blue silk and delicately embroidered with birds and flowers. Under the surcoat was a less loosely fitting gown in a delicate shade of green; the sleeves of the garment made it in the height of fashion for from the elbow they hung almost to her knees.
Mary was not used to wearing such fine clothes although she had seen Eleanor in them. ‘You like the colours of your nuns,’ Eleanor had said; and she had not cared enough to protest.
The serving girl brushed her dark hair and let it fall about her shoulders, saying:
‘My lady said not for you the wimple or the dorelet. Your hair is too pretty to be hidden.’
Mary felt like a stranger to herself when the Countess came to her chamber to see the effect and to conduct her down to the hall.
It was clear that her aunt was pleased by the transformation.
In the hall was the Earl who bade her welcome to the castle, and with him were his daughters Elizabeth and Joan.
Mary was glad that they were there. The boys were away from home – as was the custom with boys who always seemed to be brought up in someone else’s home. But it was pleasant to meet her cousins.
The warmth of her welcome was heartening and she could not help feeling glad to have escaped from Eleanor who would have been highly critical of her and that would have spoilt her pleasure.
Mary was placed at the high table in between the Earl and the Countess and they talked to her about life at Pleshy and naturally the convent of the Poor Clares was mentioned.
‘The nuns are the best people possible to give a girl a good education,’ declared the Countess. ‘Poor creatures, what sad lives they lead.’
‘They are not in the least sad, my lady,’ said Mary hastily. ‘They serve God through the unfortunate and that brings them great happiness.’
The Countess laid her hand on that of her niece. ‘Indeed they do. I am sorry for them because they will never know the joy of having children. I speak as a mother, dear child. I wonder how many of them ever regret the life they have chosen when they hear children chattering and laughing together.’
Mary was silent.
This was a special occasion, whispered her uncle. They were so delighted, he and her aunt, that she had come. He was going to lead her into the dance when they had eaten. What did she think of that? Did she like to dance?
Oh yes, she loved to dance.
And music? Did she enjoy that?
She liked to sing. She played the guitar accompanying herself.
‘We must hear you,’ said the Earl. ‘Do you sing to your sister and her husband? It would be no use singing to the nuns, I’ll warrant.’
‘Oh no,’ she said with a little laugh.
‘This venison is to your taste, I hope,’ went on the Earl. ‘I’ll swear you’d not taste better at the King’s table. He has a fine palate, our King. Do you know he interests himself in the actual cooking of the food which is served at his table?’
‘The King has very unusual tastes for a king.’
The Countess laughed. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘One could not imagine his father or his grandfather caring how much honey in proportion to mulberries was put into a moree.’
‘Does the King care about such matters then?’ asked Mary.
‘Indeed he does,’ replied the Earl. ‘He concerns himself not only with his cooks but with his tailors. He spends hours in consultations with these fellows who are, they say, getting a grand idea of their worth. He’ll be bestowing the Garter on one of them soon, some say, because he has produced some delicate recipe or a particularly magnificent cote hardie.’
There was laughter at the table. And then while the sotiltees were being served the minstrels and the mummers arrived.
It was a wonderful entertainment, more amusing than anything she had seen at Pleshy. The mummers danced and pirouetted in the most agile manner; in their grotesque masks they looked like beings from another world. Mary laughed a great deal and the Earl and Countess were delighted at her pleasure. They were determined that by the time she left Arundel she was going to have changed her mind about this wish to join the Poor Clares.
She slept soundly that night and arose feeling fresh and full of vitality the next morning. She could not help being pleased that Eleanor had been unable to accompany them, for she was realising that Eleanor had a way of damping down her pleasure and implying that it was sinful for Mary to indulge in that of which she, Eleanor, could not have enough.
Her cousins showed her their horses and they crossed the drawbridge, ran down the incline and walked as far as the forest. How she had enjoyed standing under the trees and inhaling the scent of earth and pines. She loved the forest and longed to be there alone free of her cousins’ chatter. She felt she had so much to think about. They believed they had been very bold to cross the drawbridge but said Elizabeth: ‘It is all right because there are three of us.’
She felt much older than they were, though she was not really so; she supposed it was due to her upbringing with the nuns. It seemed that during the last days she had grown up suddenly; she was presented with a problem which could affect her whole life and she needed solitude to think of it. How she would love to wander alone among these beautiful trees and think of the future. She was thoughtful as they returned to the castle.
It was after dinner and the household was very quiet. Mary knew that her cousins were with their mother before she took her rest. An irresistible urge came over her to get out into the forest. She wanted to be absolutely alone and she could not feel that within the castle walls.
On impulse she put on her cloak and went to the drawbridge. It was down and there were no guards on duty. She crossed it and felt free. She ran down the incline and turned towards the fringe of the forest.
It was greatly daring. Her uncle and her aunt would be horrified if they knew she were out alone. I shall only venture into the edge, she promised herself, and shall keep the castle in sight. I must be alone to think.
The grass was green and springy under her feet. There had been much rain of late. How beautiful it was! There was a tang in the air which made her cheeks tingle but it was not really cold for January. She liked the winter; she thought the trees raising their stark branches to the sky made a more intricate and delicate pattern than could be produced with needle on silk and the evergreen pines were as resplendent now as in the height of summer. She stood listening to the call of a skylark; she filled her lungs with the sharp fresh air and gratefully smelt the scent of grass and foliage. She looked up at the grey sky and the pale wintry sun and thought the world was a beautiful place. There was so much to discover and if one were shut away in the convent one would learn so little about it. She was deep in thought as she walked through the glades, pausing every now and then to look closer at the tassels of the hazels and to see whether the blossoms were beginning to show on the ancient yews, as she inhaled the fresh air.
She began to smile, suddenly thinking of the mummers she had seen last evening. How excited she had been when her uncle had led her in the dance! It had been a great honour; she wondered why he and the Countess had taken such pains to make her feel so important. She was, after all, only just past ten years old.
Her uncle had talked about her going to Court. That would be much later of course but he had made it sound exciting. Richard would be pleased to receive her he had said. How would she like that? It must always be a pleasure to be received by a king, she had replied.
It was so different here at Arundel from Pleshy. Was it because Eleanor always made her feel that she was destined for the convent and must never forget it for it would be sinful to turn her back on her destiny.
But was it her destiny? Since she had come to Arundel she was unsure.
She sto
od listening. She could hear the sound of horses’ hoofs. There must be arrivals at the castle. There was nothing unusual in that. Travellers were constantly calling. They came often to Pleshy. They were never turned away unless, of course, there was some reason for doing so.
The incident had reminded her where she was and what she was doing. She was disobeying rules which was not very good of her since she had been treated so affectionately by her aunt and uncle at the castle. Because they had behaved as though she were much older, with the honours they had bestowed on her, she had felt grown up. Perhaps it was for that reason that she had ventured into the forest.
She should return at once.
She started to walk back the way she thought she had come, but after she had gone some little distance and expected to emerge from the forest to see the castle before her, she did not do so.
The trees hedged her in and with dismay she realised that she was not sure of the direction in which she should go. It was nothing to be alarmed at. She had not really penetrated the forest; she had just skirted the edge. She must emerge from the trees and see the castle soon.
But alas, it was not so simple. She had been so deep in thought that she had not noted any landmark which might have helped her. All the trees looked alike. She paused uncertainly and tried to work out which way to go.
She must not panic. This was a situation she had never had to face before. It was the first time she had been away from her home alone. What had she been thinking of to come into the forest? The treatment given her by her relations had made her feel she was no longer a child.
How foolish she had been and here she was alone, lost in the forest.
This was nonsense. She would find her way. She stood quite still and as she did so she thought she heard a rustling in the undergrowth.
Was someone else in this part of the forest?
Her first thought was of relief. If some woodman was there he could show her the way back to the castle. Then she thought of robbers. She heard that they abounded on the roads. During the early days of the reign of the late King there had been strict laws against them and the roads had been comparatively safe; but, when the old King had grown senile and paid more attention to his mistress Alice Perrers than to the affairs of the country, laws had become lax and the robbers multiplied. Richard was young yet and it was not known what his rule would be but it seemed clear that his laws would not be as strict as those of his grandfather in his heyday.
Her hands went to the girdle at her waist. It was not over-elaborate, not to be compared with the kind Eleanor wore – but it would have great value in the eyes of some needy vagrant.
There was another sound. There was no doubt now. Someone was coming nearer. She walked on, quickening her pace. Whoever it was quickened pace also. So she was being followed.
She was now really afraid.
She started to run. Was she going in the right direction? So many trees, so many bushes, that looked alike and she had been too absorbed in her thoughts to notice landmarks.
Could she be sure that she was going the way she had come, that the trees would be less dense in a few moments and she would be able to glimpse the grey walls of the castle?
Whoever was following her was running now.
‘Wait!’ called a voice.
She ran on.
Someone was immediately behind her, and a hand was laid on her arm. She started violently as a voice said: ‘Good day to you, my lady.’
She turned sharply. It was a boy – a few years older than herself, tawny-haired, blue-eyed and fairly tall.
‘Why do you run from me?’ he asked. ‘You are quite breathless.’
‘What do you want?’ she asked and instinctively her hands went to her girdle.
He stood back a pace and bowed low. ‘To serve you,’ he said and there was a slightly mocking look in his eyes.
‘Then show me the way to the castle.’
‘You have not come far.’
‘Am I on the right path?’
He shook his head. ‘You will need my help.’
‘You will want payment for it, I see. Never fear. Take me back to the castle and you will be rewarded.’
‘How did you come to lose your way?’
‘No matter, I have lost it. Are you going to show me the right path?’
‘Follow me,’ he said.
She was relieved for a moment. He walked ahead of her. She noticed his well-shaped head and how his tawny hair curled softly; he held himself proudly. She thought he might be the son of some neighbouring squire.
After a few minutes she said: ‘I do not remember coming this way.’
He turned to smile at her and there was a hint of mischief in the smile. ‘Ah, but you lost your way.’
‘Are you sure this is the way back to the castle?’
‘I swear that I will show you the way.’
They had come to a clearing in the trees.
‘I did not see this before.’
‘It is a pleasant spot,’ he said.
She had become very frightened. He was not leading her to the castle. It seemed rather that he was taking her away from it.
‘Please show me the way at once,’ she said.
‘You are tired,’ he answered soothingly. ‘Rest awhile. Then I promise you that I will show you the way back.’
‘I have no desire to rest.’
‘I think you have. You are flushed with exertion and alarm. Sit for a few moments. Look, there is a pleasant spot under the trees there.’
‘I have no wish to. Good day to you.’
He had thrown himself down under a tree and looked up at her smiling. She thought: How insolent he is, this son of a squire! My uncle would punish him severely for this.
She turned away and immediately asked herself which way to go.
She hesitated and she heard his voice. ‘You will go further into the forest. Better wait for me.’
She came back to him. ‘If you will take me back now, I will pay you well.’
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Later.’
He indicated the spot beside him. She hesitated for a second and seeing that she needed his help she sat down beside him.
‘You must know how eager I am,’ she said. ‘It is not very gallant to behave as you do. You should study the manners of knighthood, even though you may not be of noble birth.’
‘You ask too much of one . . . not of noble birth. You are, indeed. I guess that. You are a guest at the castle.’
‘The Earl of Arundel is my uncle. He would be displeased if he knew of your conduct.’
‘I wonder what my punishment would be. Perhaps I shall find out when you betray me.’
‘I will say nothing of this if you take me back to the castle without delay. Indeed I shall see that you receive a good meal and some reward.’
‘I am overcome with gratitude.’
She leaped to her feet. ‘Then, show me the way back, now.’
He did not rise but lay back smiling at her lazily.
‘Very soon,’ he said. ‘I promise you. You have not told me your name but I believe you are the Lady Mary de Bohun who is at this time visiting her aunt and uncle at Arundel.’
‘How did you know this?’
‘We humble folk discover these matters concerning the great ones.’
‘Then as you know who I am you will realise the need not to offend me . . . or my uncle.’
‘It is a great need,’ he said. ‘You have not asked my name.’
‘It is of no importance to me.’
‘That was scarcely friendly. Then I will tell you. My name is Henry.’
‘Then, Henry, it is time we left this place.’
‘Such a pleasant place,’ he murmured. ‘It has been a happy adventure for me.’
‘If you will not show me the way back I shall attempt to find the way myself. And rest assured I shall tell of your knavish behaviour to me. You will regret it.’
‘You are not often angry are you, my lady?’<
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She turned away.
‘But you are angry now because you are frightened. Please do not be, Lady Mary. I want you to like me.’
‘I shall not do that after your behaviour. Take me back at once.’
He stood up meekly and said: ‘It was only a game. Come. It is here. You will be surprised how close you were to the castle. The trees grow so thickly and the bushes so high that even in winter weather it is easy to lose the way.’
She walked beside him uncertainly. From time to time he glanced at her almost appealingly as though begging her to forgive him; and strangely enough because he was rather handsome and seemed really contrite and was after all only a boy, she found she could, particularly when she saw the castle a little way ahead.
At the edge of the wood she paused to bid him good-bye and thank him.
‘You shall be rewarded,’ she told him. ‘I will tell my uncle.’
‘I shall come to the castle for my reward,’ he said.
She hesitated. Perhaps that was the best way. He could go to the kitchens and be refreshed there and be satisfied.
They came to the drawbridge. There were men-at-arms there now and they bowed both to her and her companion.
Together they passed under the portcullis and into the courtyard.
He was preparing to accompany her into the hall and she said to him: ‘You must go through that alley there. You will come to the kitchens. You may tell them I sent you.’
‘I prefer to enter by way of the hall.’
‘But you do not understand.’
He raised his eyebrows. He was a most unusual boy. He had, she noticed now, an air of arrogance which implied that he thought himself equal to anyone.
‘My uncle . . .’ she began.
And at that moment her uncle came into the hall and with him was the Duke of Lancaster himself. Even at such a moment she could not help but be overawed by her guardian.
He was a tall man, commanding in appearance. His deep-set eyes were a vivid blue and his hair tawny as a lion. He had the long nose and narrow cheeks of the Plantagenets, and on his tunic was emblazoned his emblem of the lilies of France and the leopards of England.
Beside him her uncle looked insignificant.