Chapter 7 #2
Finally, Madeleine gave some thought to her appearance.
It was important to her that she first meet her husband dressed as a lady of rank and dignity.
The queen had provided her with a rich wardrobe, most of which she had not worn.
When she went to the locked chest in which she had stored all her finery, she remembered the high hopes and spirits in which she’d left Normandy. Some trace of that optimism returned.
The king was coming, and soon she would have a husband.
She hung handsome tunics and gowns to freshen, and checked over girdles and jewelry. She washed her hair with rosemary, and had Dorothy comb it thoroughly every night. Each day, once the hardest work was done, Madeleine dressed finely, ready for king and husband both.
It was unfortunate that she was in the kitchen in her work clothes when the watchcorn on the tower sounded his horn. It could only mean the king was in sight.
“Stars and angels!” Madeleine gasped. She’d had three pigs killed and hung days ago, and today decided they had to be cooked before they spoiled. She’d been showing the cooks how to prepare a stew using some of her precious spices so it would last a few days.
At least they would have food for the meal today.
She fled to her small room, calling for Dorothy, and together they scrambled her out of her linen into silk—a pale green silk kirtle, well embroidered around the hem and cuffs in blue and yellow, and a sky blue silk tunic, edged with red and green, with a red silk lining showing on the turned back elbow-length sleeves.
She tied a red girdle and let Dorothy arrange her folds as she struggled to unpin her hair.
She had been torn between greeting the king with loose hair as a maiden, or with plaits and veil as a lady of substance. Now she had no choice.
As Dorothy dragged a comb through her long hair, Madeleine stood by the window, watching for the first appearance of the king. The first horse arrived as Dorothy said, “There. That’ll do.”
Madeleine grabbed a twisted gold fillet and raced for the door. She breathlessly joined her uncle and aunt, hoping she didn’t look quite as desperate as they. She fitted the fillet over her hair just as the king’s party rode in through the unfinished gate of the unfinished palisade.
There were about thirty men, mostly soldiers but some scribes and clerics—the work of the kingdom continued wherever the king chose to travel. Five leashed hounds and their handlers followed. Most of the men had hawks on their wrists.
Madeleine bit her lip. No one in Baddersley kept hawks, and there was no mews.
With Uncle Paul’s guards to include, the hall was going to be hard put to fit everyone.
Would the food last?
The king rode in front on a fine dark horse. He wore mail but no helmet. He looked quite ordinary with his thinning gingerish hair and no signs of kingship other than his banner. Had she expected him to be wearing his crown?
Was her husband here?
Madeleine scrutinized the arrivals, but the men all looked the same—large mailed shapes topped by conical helmets with long nosepieces. She dragged her eyes back to the king. As soon as his horse arrived at the hall doors, Paul de Pouissey went forward to kneel. Dame Celia and Madeleine curtsied.
William swung off his mount and flung the reins to a waiting noble, then gave Paul his hand to kiss and raised him.
Without much approval, Madeleine noticed.
The king’s shrewd eyes traveled around, missing nothing.
He was not ordinary at all, she realized.
She sensed the power that had brought him from bastard son of a petty duke to King of England.
He had a word for Dame Celia, then came to Madeleine. She licked her lips nervously as she curtsied again.
“So, demoiselle,” he said gruffly. “I have brought you a husband.”
“Oh.” Madeleine knew she should thank him, but instead she looked around for the chosen one.
The king laughed. “Later. Now I want to see this place.” He offered her his hand and led her into the hall, leaving her uncle and aunt to follow.
Dame Celia immediately scuttled off, screeching, “Wine. Wine for the king!”
Madeleine swallowed. “We have no wine, sire.”
“Ale is better after a dusty journey,” said the king as he looked around. “This place has a somewhat Spartan appearance, demoiselle. I’m sure in Hereward’s day it was richer.”
Madeleine gestured for ale to be brought forward. “I fear he must have taken his possessions when he fled, sire.”
The king took one of the only two chairs in the wooden hall and gestured Madeleine to the other.
Scowling, Paul was forced to sit on a bench.
A servant crept forward with a flagon of ale.
Madeleine took it to serve the chief guest as was her duty as lady of the hall.
The servant backed away, pallid with terror.
William took the cup of ale. “Thank you, demoiselle.” He added dryly, “I wish all the English were so awestruck at my appearance.”
“Indeed, sire,” said Paul, leaning forward eagerly. “We rule the wretches here with a firm hand.”
The king took a deep draft of ale. “A good brew, demoiselle.” He gestured. An older man and a younger, the younger very large and dark, came forward. Was this her husband? Madeleine wondered with a fast-beating heart. He looked pleasant.
“Demoiselle, I present to you Count Guy de Gaillard and his son Lord Leo de Vesin. They will keep you company while I go apart with Lord Paul. With such a firm hand, he must have good things to report to me.”
Madeleine saw her uncle swallow as he rose to lead the king to the solar. She wished him well of the interview.
Guy de Gaillard considered the young woman his son had been offered and experienced the familiar desire to knock Aimery’s head against a stone wall.
She was a gem. Not a legendary beauty, but wholesome and comely with clear skin and white teeth.
More to the point, there was a flash of spirit and humor in those fine brown eyes.
Though there was no physical similarity, Madeleine de la Haute Vironge reminded him a lot of Lucia when he had first set eyes on her.
He glanced around in search of Aimery but couldn’t see him. Where in Christ’s name had he gone? Odo de Pouissey had disappeared, too, but perhaps he was paying his respects to his stepmother. Stephen de Faix was hovering, looking as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
“So, Lady Madeleine,” Guy said. “How long have you been in England?”
“Only eight weeks, my lord. I came over with the duchess . . . the queen, I mean.”
“Ah, yes. She sent messages and gifts for you. She regards you highly. I believe she hopes you will rejoin her ladies before her child is born.”
“She is well, my lord?”
“As best I can tell. And do you like England?”
“It is very beautiful,” said Madeleine, “and could be heaven, I believe, were it not for strife.”
Count Guy chuckled. “For some people heaven is strife.” At Madeleine’s surprised look he added, “Most Normans think life dull without a fight, and the Vikings, of course, thought heaven was Valhalla, where men could fight every day and die, then be revived to fight again the next. You must meet my youngest son,” he went on, “who can explain all this kind of thing better than I.”
“He is a scholar?”
The younger man laughed. “Aimery’s over-educated perhaps for a Norman, but no cleric. You’ll see when you meet him.” He, too, looked around. “I don’t know where he’s gone. I think I’ll go and find him.” He rose to his feet.
Dame Celia came scurrying over to take the vacated seat next to Madeleine. “It is so nice to have Odo back home again, isn’t it, Madeleine?”
“This is hardly his home, Aunt,” retorted Madeleine.
Dame Celia reached to pinch Madeleine, then drew her hand back. “We won’t have enough food,” she snapped. “You were in charge of food. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, you lazy girl.”
Leo shared a look with his father and escaped.
Aimery was making a spurious concern over his horse an excuse to stay well out of the heiress’ way. Let Stephen and Odo fight over her, and then perhaps she wouldn’t take a close look at him. He had little hope that she wouldn’t recognize him if they spent much time together.
He remembered how she’d appeared, curtsying to the king, radiant in a tunic of rich blue embroidered with red and gold worn over a green kirtle, equally well trimmed.
Her long hair had hung loose under a gold circlet, gleaming all the way down to her hips, where it swung against the curve of her bottom as she turned to go into the hall with the king.
Clearly all Gyrth’s concerns about mistreatment had been nonsense, and he’d worried for no reason. Instead, she was more beautiful than he remembered. Now he just had to remind himself ten or twenty times a day that she was a heartless witch . . . a hundred times a day, perhaps.
“Well now,” said Leo, coming over to slap him none too gently on the back. Aimery had shed his armor, and the buffet stung. “Don’t you wish you’d snapped her up? A cozy armful.”
“That depends on her nature,” said Aimery bleakly, and his brother shook his head.
“Sure you don’t have boils on your behind? You’ve grown more surly with each mile we rode coming here.” Leo looked around. “Not that this run-down place looks all it’s made out to be. I want to get a closer look at the keep.”
Leo bellowed for his squire and shed his armor, too, pulling on a well-embroidered tunic, then he and Aimery wandered around.
Leo poked and prodded everything. “This has been built too fast,” he said, peering at the ten-foot-thick stone base to the wooden keep.
“The stones aren’t fitted close enough.”
At the palisade he pushed at a great log set in the ground and it moved. “Hey you!” he shouted at a laborer nearby. “When was this done?”
The man looked up, terrified, and gabbled something in English.
“What did he say?” Leo asked.