Chapter 10 #4
He turned back, amiable once more. “In fact only the ring is that kind of symbol, demoiselle. The geld, as they call it, is more a matter of rank. The strongest leaders give the most. The most favored followers receive the most. It’s all a remnant of our joint ancestors, the Viking raiders.
” He took a bite of chicken, chewed, and swallowed it.
“I am a modern man, however. I give my faithful followers land. And heiresses.” His eyes cooled and threatened.
“And I was foolish enough to give one heiress a choice.”
Madeleine’s throat seized up, but she forced out the words. “And that choice is made, sire.”
His brows lowered, and he studied her as if he could read the sins on her soul. She waited for him to ask the name and make the announcement. But he relaxed and smiled. “Then we can put the matter aside, Lady Madeleine, and relax. Let those three hopefuls sweat for the night.”
He called for attention. “The Lady Madeleine will make her decision known in the morning. The betrothal will follow, and then the marriage. Immediately afterward we leave to go north to deal with the Earl of Mercia.”
There was a renewed burst of conversation and more speculative looks, as men tried to decide from her behavior whom she had chosen.
“They’re laying bets on it, demoiselle,” said the king. “If you feel mischievous, you could mislead the gullible.” A new platter was presented, and he turned to grasp a piece of tender lamb. He placed it on her trencher, then took some for himself. “Enjoy the feast, demoiselle.”
The king was the one being mischievous. He guessed she would not choose de Gaillard and was giving himself time to try more tricks.
What could he possibly do since he seemed determined to keep to his promise and allow her her choice?
She did not know, but the possibilities stole what little appetite her general anxiety had left her.
She picked at the food and drank heavily from her mead cup until her head began to swim.
Odo looked sullen, resigned to the fact that he would not be her choice.
Stephen was in high spirits. When he caught her eye, he blew her a kiss, which was noted with cheers of encouragement.
Madeleine almost raised her hands to ward off that invisible sign of affection.
Her eyes found Aimery de Gaillard sitting with his brother and some other men.
She saw Leo de Vesin poke his brother, encouraging him to follow Stephen’s example.
With a grimace, Aimery looked up at her and gave a slight bow of the head, then returned his somber attention to his meal.
She noticed he, too, did not seem to have much appetite.
Madeleine could not endure more. “May I retire, sire?” she asked. “I am very tired, and tomorrow will be another busy day.”
He frowned at her, but then grinned, “And tomorrow night a busy night. Sleep well, Lady Madeleine.”
She rose and left without looking at anyone in the hall. Tomorrow night she would have to allow Stephen de Faix to do as he willed with her body. She would have given herself into his keeping, body and soul, and would have no right to object to anything unless he beat her viciously.
But why would she even think that way about a man who seemed, if anything, too easy-going? Odo would be the sort to turn vicious, like his father.
In her room she took off her jewels and the clinging silk-velvet, feeling immediate relief from the heat. As she folded the clothes carefully away in a chest, the shimmering scarlet reminded her of Aimery de Gaillard. Had he, too, put on his most barbaric clothes as a gesture of defiance?
She sat by the window and opened one of the precious English books Father Cedric had found for her. She tried to concentrate on it and put other concerns away. As the sun set, she came across the poem Aimery de Gaillard had recited for her, The Wanderer:
Thus speaks the homeless-one,
haunted by memories of terrible slaughter
and the death of his friends:
“Dawn often finds me grieving in solitude,
for no one still lives
with whom I dare share
the truth of my heart.”
Had he chosen it carelessly, or had it expressed the thoughts of his heart? It seemed to echo hers. They were both, in different ways, cut off from their pasts and alone. She read on through the sad story of a man torn from his place, his loved ones, and his world.
He thinks of the hall, its bountiful riches,
his ring-friend’s great feasts in the days of his youth.
A splendor now past.
Where is the horse now? Where is the great man?
Where is the giver of rings?
Where is the joyous feast?
Where is the singing?
Oh, grieve for the flowing mead, grieve the great warriors,
grieve the proud princes. Swallowed, all swallowed by night’s fatal shadows, leaving no trace for those left alone.
It seemed to predict the ruin of the English culture.
Madeleine grieved for that lost England, for with it into the mists of history had gone her own chance of happiness. It was Aimery de Gaillard’s allegiance to the past which stood between them, and she could not follow the poet and resign herself to the workings of fate.
Tears ran down her cheeks. One day, she supposed, she would be old and shriveled, and all this would seem childish folly. But now, ah now, it hurt like the cleansing fluid she had poured into Aimery’s wound.