Chapter 32 #2
“No. He’s got his future…or he will, once the king hears his side of the story. Rafe will undoubtedly receive some sort of commission, or be granted a role in Stephen’s military, perhaps. He’s too good a warrior for the king to waste.”
“And what path will you take?” Cecily asked.
“I don’t know.” Angelet felt helpless as she pictured her future.
“Otto will keep his grip on Henry more than ever now. I think my chance to be rejoined with him is gone.” The unfairness of it stung her.
All she wanted was to provide her child with a home, where they could be happy together until he grew up.
But she lacked the political power to do that.
“I could go to Anjou—perhaps my family isn’t entirely lost, though unless we’re able to get an army together, there’s little chance we’ll be able to reclaim anything of our legacy. But I’ve no means to support myself.”
“Your gift of needlecraft might be more useful than you think,” Cecily said. “That altar cloth you showed me is an object worthy of princes. But I think you are too concerned with the future. See what happens during the audience with the king. Who knows what will come of it?”
“That’s what concerns me most,” Angelet said. “It is one thing to know that Fortune’s wheel is always turning. It is quite another to feel it crushing you into the mud when you finally think you could rise.”
“Have you had a vision as dire as that?”
“No. I never see myself in visions.”
“Then don’t fear a future you haven’t even seen, dear.”
The next day, Cecily came to Angelet with an excited expression on her face. “Listen, I had an idea! Your altar cloth…would you consider offering it as a gift to the king?”
Angelet said, “I wouldn’t dare presume it was good enough for a king. But it would be an honor.”
“I knew you’d think so. And I asked Luc’s father to exert some of his influence to beg a favor from the king.
If you come with me to Northampton Castle this evening, you can present it to his grace.
And if he happens to notice that you’re a modest and pious lady who deserves justice, so much the better! ”
Angelet wore a gown borrowed from Luc’s sister. The undyed linen of the fabric glowed almost white in firelight, and the tunic-like overskirt was a pale grey-blue that appeared more like silver. She wore the moonstones around her neck, since they were the only jewelry she had.
She took care to braid her hair tightly and bind it up on her head so as to show restraint and modesty.
If she were a nun, she’d have to cover her hair completely.
As she prepared, she idly thought of young Robin.
The girl felt caged at Cleobury…Angelet guessed that Robin would literally climb the walls of an actual nunnery.
“I am not so wild,” she said aloud, rather regretting her nature.
She’d had her moment of wildness, when she accepted Rafe into her life so very briefly.
Those few weeks had been filled with passion and excitement and danger, and she should be happy it was now over.
There would be no more wildness, not for her.
And not for Rafe either, since he would no longer be an itinerant knight.
She refused to think of what might happen to him should Otto prevail during the audience.
Rafe could be branded a criminal, despite all her efforts to defend him.
“That’s what tonight is for,” she told herself. “I’ll beg the king for mercy if I must.”
Cecily and Angelet rode to the castle in a carriage, escorted by a few men-at-arms from the household. It seemed Cecily kept the visit a secret from nearly everyone, except for Luc’s father, who arranged it. Angelet wondered if that was because she feared it would be a failure.
Angelet held the folded altar cloth in her lap, feeling more nervous by the second. What if the king refused to see them? What if he accused her of something terrible? What if he despised the gift?
“We should go back,” she whispered to Cecily. “This is a mistake.”
“It would be a mistake to miss this opportunity to advance your cause,” Cecily returned, taking Angelet’s hand. “Be bold.”
“I am not bold.”
“Then be strong. Whenever you fear you’ll fail, think of what you love and you’ll be able to go on.”
Angelet closed her eyes. Immediately she saw whom she loved. Henry, who needed to be removed from Otto’s control. Rafe, who needed to clear his reputation. If she could help either of them, she had to try. “I will do it,” she whispered.
“Good. Because we have arrived.”
The ladies were shown into a small receiving chamber that was grander than anything Angelet had seen in a private home.
A massive fireplace dominated the space, and dark wood paneling covered the walls.
The floor was covered with a plush carpet woven in a pattern based on some fantastical garden, and the chairs all had carved backs and velvet cushions.
A round oak table with elaborately carved legs stood in the middle.
“All this wealth for one room of a castle the king only visits a few times a year,” Angelet said in awe.
“Royalty lives differently,” Cecily said, looking overwhelmed as well.
Then the door opened. A thin, rather pinched man came though, followed by a much larger, broad-shouldered man dressed like…a king.
Angelet gasped when she realized who stood in front of her. She dropped into a curtsey alongside Cecily. “Your Grace,” they both murmured.
“Rise, my ladies,” King Stephen said. “Which of you is Lady Angelet?”
“I am Angelet d’Hiver Yarborough, widow of Hubert.”
“That makes you Lady Cecily,” the king said, looking Cecily over. “Traveling in your condition, my lady? Please sit.”
“I thank you, your Grace.” Cecily sat down after the king did himself.
Angelet remained standing, still holding the altar cloth.
Stephen smiled at her. “I hear you bring a gift to me.” With a gesture, he invited her to put it on the table in front of him.
She unfolded the cloth so the scene it depicted faced the king. “I embroider, your grace, and I hope this work may please you. The scene is of a…dream I had.”
“A most beautiful dream,” Stephen said. He reached out to the cloth with a large hand more suited to battle than to art.
Perhaps he came to the same conclusion, for he didn’t actually touch the cloth, though his fingers traced the lines of the gold castle and the twisting vines of the border.
“I have been told, though, that your dreams are not just dreams, but visions.”
“So others say, your grace.”
The other man spoke for the first time. “So says Lord Otto, who reports that you fled away from the nunnery where you were meant to go, on account of your visions.” He did not smile.
Possibly he never learned how, based on the way his face was lined.
He looked hard at Angelet, as if she were a puzzle to figure out.
“This is Lord Drogo,” said the king, leaning back in his chair. “One of my most trusted advisors. At my request, he has been collecting the facts of the situation raised by Lord Otto and his son. He’s spoken to most of the people involved.”
“But not to me,” Angelet said, before realizing it sounded impertinent.