Chapter 7 #3
Aimery translated. “He asked, of course, what you said. Doesn’t it occur to anyone to learn the language?” Then he remembered it had occurred to one person.
“Ask him what I asked him,” said Leo impatiently.
They soon established that the whole section had been put together in a week. The man said he knew it wasn’t done right, but it was the lord’s command.
“If you become lord here,” Leo said, “you’ll have to rip this all down and do it again.”
“And you wonder why I don’t want the task. Let’s look at the stables,” said Aimery. “I’m wondering how our mounts are faring.”
They found their horses adequately housed, though the squires were having to do more work than usual as the manor seemed short-handed. At one end of the stables was a makeshift mews where crude perches were being hastily knocked together. Aimery was grateful he had no bird with him.
Leo set again to asking questions, using Aimery as translator, and they soon discovered the Lady Madeleine had put the stables and storehouses in order.
“Rich and efficient,” Leo approved. “If I were you I’d change into my finest and start dancing attendance. Gift her with some of the bullion that offends Father so. You could buy half the women in England for that lot.”
“Are you suggesting she’s that kind of woman?” Aimery asked dryly, leaning against the door jamb of a grain-store.
Leo laughed. “They’re all that kind of woman. They decide how much they’re valued by how much you spend. Give her the bracelet with the blue and garnet inlay.”
“It’s warrior’s geld. Do you think she’s a fighter?”
Leo at last caught the resistance in his brother’s tone and studied him, puzzled. “You still don’t want her? What is it? You’ve a true love somewhere? Marry her. If you can’t, marry the heiress and keep the other for variety.”
Aimery laughed. “If you have a little variety tucked away back home, I don’t know Janetta.”
Leo acknowledged the truth with a humorous grimace, but any further comment was cut off by the horn, summoning everyone to the evening meal. They made haste toward the manor house.
The great hall of Baddersley manor was fine in its own way with carved rafters and paneling. Perhaps only Aimery, who had visited here in better times, missed the handsome hangings, the massed arrays of gleaming weapons, and the carved and gilded furniture.
The high table was well laid, with a brightly embroidered frontal to hang down and conceal the diners’ legs, and snowy covering cloths.
The two great chairs stood behind, and the king and Madeleine were already sitting in them.
To Madeleine’s right sat Paul de Pouissey, looking sullen and frightened.
To the king’s left sat Dame Celia, looking frantic.
On her other side Count Guy was attempting some kind of rational conversation.
He looked up to see his sons and made a quick expression of despair.
Trestle tables of irregular sizes and heights crammed around the walls of the rest of the hall so it was difficult to work through to a seat.
The tables were covered by a hotchpotch of cloths, some with ragged edges, showing how hastily the room had been prepared.
When Aimery and Leo found a place, they eyed the cracked bench with misgiving.
As they gingerly lowered themselves, it swayed and creaked. Two other men came to join them.
“Sit carefully, friends,” boomed Leo, “and there’s a chance we’ll survive the meal upright.”
Aimery saw the heiress color and cast a swift, angry look at his brother.
Her gaze passed over Aimery, then flicked back.
She frowned thoughtfully, but then a great crack and a shout turned her attention elsewhere.
Either other diners had been less cautious, or their bench had been even more decrepit.
Across the room a line of sitting men disappeared from view.
For a moment, nothing could be seen except a waving arm and then, unfortunately, a flailing leg kicked the table and sent it flying to partially demolish the one next to it.
Aimery saw Madeleine half rise, then look anxiously at the king beside her.
William was guffawing with laughter. A wild screech rent the air, causing the king to turn, mouth still wide, to look at the lady on his left.
Dame Celia was shrieking something and pointing at Madeleine.
Count Guy was attempting to control her.
The lady’s wimple slid half over her face, and she clawed at it, finally dragging it off to reveal a nest of messy gray hair.
Madeleine said something, though from where Aimery sat her words were drowned by laughter and the curses of the downed men. Dame Celia hurled her headcloth at the girl. It hit the king full in the face.
Silence fell.
The king pulled the cloth off, looking with astonishment from the boggle-eyed lady to her husband. Paul turned red, then white, and leaped to his feet. He crossed to his wife and swung a hand to deliver a mighty blow. His arm was gripped and stopped dead by a stern-faced Count Guy.
The tableau held for breathless moments.
Then the king said into the silence, “I hardly think that would effect a cure, Lord Paul. Your wife clearly needs rest. Tomorrow you had best leave here and take her back to her homeland. I suggest you may wish to give her into the care of a convent for some time to recover her wits. I vow, this England is enough to drive anyone demented. Perhaps you had best take her apart now and care for her.”
Stiffly, Paul recovered his hand from the count and took his wife’s arm. As they left the room, the king’s voice went after them. “Care for her gently, Lord Paul.”
Conversation started again with a murmur and rapidly grew to bedlam.
Aimery returned his attention to the fallen table and found little was being achieved.
The servants were being dull-witted or deliberately obstructive, and those gentlemen nearby were finding great amusement in pinning the fallen down and trying to get the boards on top of them.
Exasperated, he said, “Watch the bench, my friends, I’m going to stand on it.
” Having accomplished this, he took his life in his hands and leaped over the table to the central floor and crossed to the tangled mess.
Giving crisp instructions in French and English, and using force on one mischievous knight, he got the diners up and the table set on its legs again.
A brief discussion with the groom of the pantry brought two chests to take the place of the splintered bench.
“And be grateful,” he said tersely as the men sat down. “You probably have the most solid seats in the place.”
As he turned to go back to his place, he gave the high table a deep, ironic bow.
“My thanks to you, Aimery,” said the king. “But I cannot allow you to risk yourself by vaulting over the table again. See, there is a vacant seat here beside the demoiselle. Come, take it.”