by Speer, Flora
Branwen was not pleased.
“How could you do this?” she raved at Rhys. “Meredith deserves better than to be maidservant to a Norman bitch!”
“The Normans are here to stay in these border lands, and we must all learn to live with them,” Rhys said. “I think this is best for Meredith. Trust me, Branwen. You always have before.”
“I think you have taken leave of your senses. Meredith will have nothing to do with Normans. Especially the Lady Isabel. You have only to listen to Thomas to know the sort of creature she is.”
“I have already promised Lord Guy I would go,” Meredith said. “I cannot break my word.”
“You will never come back. They won’t let you. Lord Guy will decide he owns you. The Normans think they own everything.”
“Lord Guy has said I may return here when Lady Isabel’s new maid arrives. It’s only for a little while, Aunt Branwen.”
“If he doesn’t let her return,” Rhys said solemnly, “I’ll cast a spell on him.”
“Oh, Rhys,” Meredith giggled, “you’ve told me a hundred times you are not a wizard. You can’t cast a spell.”
“But Lord Guy isn’t certain of that, is he?”
“You are both mad,” Branwen said, but the next day, as Meredith was leaving, she held her niece tightly and kissed her several times.
“I love you,” Branwen said in a voice thick with tears. “If they treat you badly, or do anything you don’t like, send for me or come home.”
“I will.”
Rhys embraced her, wrapping Meredith in the wide, soft grey sleeves of his flowing robe. When she laid her head on his shoulder, his long white beard tickled at her nose and cheek as it had when she was a child, and for just a moment she was safe and unafraid. Then he let her go, kissed her on each cheek, and turned back into the cave, Gwyn running after him as always.
Chapter 20
It had been nearly four months since the new lord arrived at Afoncaer, and in that time the castle had been transformed. Both the inner and outer walls had been repaired and were now being built higher, while a sturdy new gate barred the main entrance each night. Under the golden autumn sun Afoncaer presented a formidable appearance, nearly impregnable on its high bluff.
Meredith arrived shortly after mid-day, when the gates in the outer wall stood open and the wooden bridge over the wet moat was down. The guard to whom she spoke directed her toward a slightly smaller gate in the inner wall that guarded the castle proper.
“Walk right down the road,” he said. “You are expected. I wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” she responded, surprised at receiving good wishes from a Norman.
“With the life awaiting you in there, you will need all the luck you can gather,” the man said with a knowing grin. Meredith felt a growing concern. Could her new mistress be so difficult a person that even the ordinary soldiers were aware of it? She fought down the knot in her stomach and walked through the entrance.
In the roughly rectangular space between the inner and outer walls, Meredith could see the beginning of a town. Streets had been laid out, and a few houses had already been built for those workmen who would remain after the castle was finished. Thomas had told her that for their work as carpenters, masons, or ditchers, many of the men who were helping to build Afoncaer had been given land as tenants and would remain at Afoncaer permanently. Whether it was maintenance of the castle itself or new building to be done in the town as time went on, there would always be work for them. She saw that some must have brought their families with them, for there were garden plots next to some of the houses, and outside one dwelling a group of small children played.
Meredith saw a blacksmith’s shop, set apart from the other buildings because of danger from fire, with the baker’s quarters nearby, and a shoemaker’s, then more cottages built to house the resettled Saxon farmers who worked the fields just outside the walls. Those houses were, she noticed, larger and better made than the hovel in which she had spent her first twelve years.
She passed the village well, trying to ignore the stares of several women who stood gossiping as they waited their turn to draw water. Meredith was glad she had completely covered her hair before leaving the cave. At least these women would not have her unusual red curls to talk about.
There was a deep, dry ditch before the inner wall. She had to cross it by a wooden drawbridge that slanted sharply upward, a deterrent to mounted knights trying to attack the castle. The guard at this second gate pointed to a large wooden building on the left side of the inner bailey.
“That is the great hall,” he said. “Lord Guy is there. You should find the Lady Isabel with him.”
As she walked toward the hall, Meredith saw masons working on a square structure that stood on the highest part of the castle grounds. The keep, when it was finished, would tower over the river below, guarding the ford and protecting the road that ran from England into the interior of Wales. On Meredith’s right hand the castle walls dropped straight down to the river; on her left, the wall ended at a swift-flowing stream, made impassible to would-be invaders by tumbled rocks and dangerous rapids. River and stream met just below the tower keep, widening into a smooth, shallow area where the ford was. Behind her, part of the river had been diverted into the wet moat along the outer wall, turning the castle and its town into a man-made, roughly triangular island.
Meredith felt imprisoned within the water barriers and the thick walls. She wondered if she would be able to sleep at night. She longed to flee the weight of those great stones pressing in on her, to return to the green freedom of the forest. She took a step backward and started to turn to run toward the outer gate.
And then she heard Rhys’ voice, very clearly, inside her head. Face the thing you fear, he had said, and overcome it. Meredith straightened her shoulders and headed for the great hall.
The door stood open. The interior was dark and smoky. She saw Guy as she entered. He was talking to a tall thin man in a cleric’s robe. The cleric peered at her from watery blue eyes, his pale brows raised in surprise.
“There you are,” Guy said, his smile lighting the dim room with welcome. “Reynaud, this is Meredith, Lady Isabel’s new maid.”
“Indeed?” Reynaud’s eyes pierced her with pale blue ice.
“Come, Meredith, I’ll take you to your mistress.” Guy’s warm hand was on her elbow.
“Couldn’t one of the servants do that?” Reynaud’s voice was chilly.
“I think I had better do it myself,” Guy chuckled.
Meredith could feel Reynaud’s eyes on her all the way to the end of the hall, where Guy led her through a wooden partition into the women’s quarters. There was another door to the outside here, and it, too, was open, letting in air and late September sunshine.
The Lady Isabel was every bit as beautiful as her son Thomas had claimed, a vision totally out of place in this partially finished wilderness fortress. She was tall and gracefully slender. Long golden braids hung over her shoulders to her waist, topped by a golden circlet and a sheer silk veil. Her skin, still flawless at age twenty-seven, shone with the pink and white tints of a perfect rose. Her silk gown matched her deep blue eyes. The belt that twice encircled her slim hips was jeweled.
“This is my new maid?” Isabel looked down her dainty nose at the shorter woman before her. “Don’t you have anything better than that dreadful grey robe to wear?”
“I’m afraid not,” Meredith said, wishing with all her heart she were back in the cave with Branwen and Rhys. She had never thought about her looks before. What was in her heart, how kindly she treated those in need of her healing skills, were much more important than mere surface appearances. Now, comparing herself to Isabel, she felt ungraceful and homely. She shifted from one foot to the other, not certain how to deal with her exquisite new mistress.
“I thought you could provide a gown -for Meredith,” Guy told his sister-in-law.
“But of course.” Isabel’s voice was laden with sarcasm
. “I have all the resources of the queen’s own wardrobe in these elegant chambers you have prepared for me.” She gestured with a be-ringed hand, indicating a cramped space crowded with wooden chests, a trestle table and some stools, a large wooden bedstead, and several pallets rolled up and pushed against the wall to make walking space during the day.
“I promised Meredith you would make proper provision for her,” Guy said. “See that you do.” With that, he left the women’s quarters.
“Have you waited on a lady before?” Isabel asked.
“No, but I can learn.” Seeing the doubtful expression on Isabel’s beautiful, pouting face, Meredith added, “I do learn quickly, my lady, and I have this advantage: since I’ve not been taught by anyone else, you may train me to suit yourself.”
“You’re quick-witted, I’ll say that for you. And at least you speak decent French, though where you learned it in this wilderness, I can’t imagine. Very well, since I have no other choice of a waiting woman at present, I’ll keep you until a proper maid arrives from court. Joan,” she addressed a plump, grey-haired woman, “find this girl something to wear.”
In a short time Meredith was attired in a deep green wool gown that was only a little too short for her and a little too thick through the waist. It was, Joan told her, originally intended for a servant named Edith, who would now have to wait until Joan could make her a new one.
“I’m sorry to take her dress,” Meredith said, hoping the woman would not be angry at the appropriation of her gown.
“Never mind, she’d rather have a blue one. She won’t care a bit. You can pull it in with the belt,” Joan said kindly, showing Meredith what she meant, “but I don’t know what we are going to do about your hair.”
“I’ll keep it covered with this,” Meredith offered, taking up the linen square that served her as a simple headdress.
“A good idea,” Lady Isabel observed. “It is a horrible color. The correct color for a woman’s hair is gold, like mine, or perhaps black as a raven’s wing, if her complexion is pale, but that awful dark red, and curly, too? Keep it covered so if offends no one’s eyes.”
Meredith had just been introduced to the other household serving women, Edith and Margaret, when Thomas appeared.
“Lady Meredith,” he exclaimed, “how pretty you look in your new dress.’*
Edith and Margaret began to giggle, and Thomas’s mother looked shocked.
“Lady?” she said, “I am the only lady here. This is a servant and you will address her by name only. How do you know this girl, Thomas?”
Meredith saw by Thomas’ frightened face that he had kept his promise to Rhys not to talk about the cave or its inhabitants, and did not want to reveal the secret now.
“We have met once or twice,” Meredith said quickly, “while Master Thomas was exploring Lord Guy’s lands.” It was not a lie, she told herself, only a diversion. She was relieved when Lady Isabel sent Thomas off on an errand and then began explaining Meredith’s duties.
While the castle itself was a man’s world, and Lord Guy was master, life in the women’s quarters revolved around Lady Isabel. It was Meredith’s task to awaken her mistress at dawn, and with Joan’s assistance, to dress her. Edith and Margaret attended to cooking and housekeeping chores under Isabel’s direct supervision, while Joan, an accomplished seamstress, took care of Isabel’s extensive wardrobe and directed the making of clothing for other members of Lord Guy’s household. Joan always had at least one or two new gowns to be made for her mistress, and personally laundered Lady Isabel’s fine linen undergarments. Because she was the oldest of the women servants, and had been with Lady Isabel the longest, Joan also served as substitute chatelaine when Lady Isabel was otherwise occupied.
Meredith was required to bring hot water each morning so Lady Isabel could wash, and then to braid Isabel’s hair, to help her on with gown and shoes, and hold the small silver hand-mirror while Isabel applied a white powder to her already perfect complexion. Once she was dressed to her satisfaction, and this often took a long time, Isabel, accompanied by all the other women, left the great hall, walking the short distance to the temporary chapel to hear Holy Mass said by Father Herbert. Meredith did not like the chaplain, and the service brought back painful memories of similar Masses when she and Branwen had stood by Alfric’s side and endured the sly looks of village louts. The only good thing about attending church at Afoncaer was the opportunity of seeing both Guy and Thomas.
She had hoped to have more time with them now that she was living inside the castle confines, but Guy was constantly surrounded by other men. When he was not conferring with Reynaud on plans for the castle, or with Captain John about the defenses and the progress of the new tower keep, he was with the falconer, or out hunting, or at weapons practice. He did at least speak to her each day when the household gathered for the main meal, and she often felt his eyes on her.
With Thomas she had more contact, since as a page he was constantly called upon to run errands for his mother and to perform trivial tasks for her. Meredith was distressed to see the odd combination of neglect and possessiveness that Isabel displayed toward her son. Thomas tried desperately to please his mother. He seldom succeeded.
“My lady, if you would deal with Thomas more kindly, he would be happier,” Meredith said one day, when she felt she had bitten her tongue too many times while the sensitive boy was treated like a servant.
“Do not advise me how to treat my son,” Isabel responded sharply. “I know what I am doing. No one can expect to be happy in this earthly life, certainly not in a place so desolate as Afoncaer. My only consolation is to hope the time I spend here will count as purgatory,” she added acidly. “I will surely be rewarded in the next life for what I suffer now.”
Meredith could only wonder how a plea for gentler treatment toward Thomas had been turned into a complaint about Lady Isabel’s lot in life. She could not understand why Isabel was unhappy. From Meredith’s point of view, Afoncaer was a fantastical place, luxurious beyond belief. She had her new woolen dress, a linen under shift, and a warm blanket to cover her each night. In this harvest season there was an abundance of food, so she was never hungry. She and Joan were well on the way to becoming good friends. Her chief irritation in this unexpectedly pleasant new life was her mistress. Lady Isabel’s attitude toward Meredith was arrogant and demanding.
“You cannot do fine needlework?” Isabel looked at her servant with scorn. “You will never hold a place as maid to a lady unless you learn. Joan, you will teach this ignorant girl. Begin today.”
“I can sew a decent seam that does not tear,” Meredith responded hotly. “I do not see the need to learn intricate embroidery.” Needlework of the kind Isabel expected was hardly a necessary skill for a young woman who planned to spend her life as a healer.
“Do not be insolent with me.” Isabel glared at her, one hand half raised. Meredith stared back, pride meeting pride, daring Isabel to strike for a long, tense moment, until Joan intervened.
“I think Meredith might begin with the hem of your new cloak, my lady, and go on from there,” Joan said. “I will teach her gradually. Fine work takes time to learn and is best done by those who have a natural skill for it.”
“If you are saying that Meredith is too stupid to learn, I quite agree,” Isabel declared.
When Meredith would have made a sharp reply to this, Joan put a hand on her arm and shook her head in warning, and Meredith subsided.
“You must curb your tongue if you would not be punished or sent away in disgrace,” Joan told her later. “Lady Isabel prefers meek servants. Your thoughts are your own, only see you do not speak them to her.”
“I’ll never learn,” Meredith sighed. “Where I lived before I could say what I wanted and I was treated with respect.”
“Then you were more fortunate than most,” Joan told her. “The women of Afoncaer must bow to Lady Isabel’s wishes. Only Sir Guy can overrule her on household matters.”
After Ma
ss each morning a light meal of bread and ale was eaten before members of the household went off to their various duties. The main meal of the day came in late morning, when boiled or roasted meats were served, along with stewed vegetables, hot meat pastries on special days, fish from the river on meatless fast days, and always bread and cheeses. Lady Isabel supervised the arrangement of these meals, and the cold meats and bread that were served in the evening, but her principal interest lay in planning the decoration of the family quarters of the new tower keep. She spent long hours conferring with Sir Guy or, more often, with Reynaud.
“I want the walls and ceilings plastered,” Isabel said, “and painted, in the latest style. Reynaud, you will write to the king’s painters at Winchester and order them to send drawings of the patterns I told you about. And samples of the same pigments. I want deep blue on the walls, and the pattern painted in gold and green.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And the embroidered tapestries. You did write about the tapestries? It is so damp here. We need something to warm the walls.”
“I will write the letter, my lady,” Reynaud said, “but these are expensive luxuries. You would commission a gold chalice and patten for the chapel? A gold and silver crucifix? Six carved chairs for the great hall? Three large carved and painted bedsteads? Some of these things could more cheaply be made right here at Afoncaer. I’m not sure it’s wise to order them from London.”
“Guy can afford it,” Isabel said blithely. “Oh, and Reynaud, when you send the next report to the king, put in a letter to Queen Matilda. Tell her I want sky blue silk, to have her lady-in-waiting send it at once. I need a new gown.”
“Another gown, my lady?” Reynaud ventured a stronger protest. “Surely your wardrobe is already more than adequate?”