Wolf for a Lioness 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Sir Hugh Fleury’s spurs clinked as he stalked up to the high table; Sir Gilbert Danforth had on soft hunting boots to ride, but clad otherwise in fine scarlet-cloth, dyed to a rich mulberry colour on his bliaut, the knee-length hem of it richly embroidered with gold threads, as were the hems of his blue undertunic.  He wore a blue fur-lined mantle and his dark hair was curled fashionably into ringlets, his beard neatly trimmed.  He was at least dressed as a courtier, a contrast to Sir Hugh, whose black bliaut was the only garment over his Welsh-style trousers, and his mantle was of heavy black worsted.  Only the finest scarlet could make so deep a black, but the embroidery in silver on Sir Hugh’s clothes could not be reminiscent of anything but armour. The only colour to relieve his somber figure was in his white blonde hair, as pale as any Saxon. 

“Sir Hugh, why do you come to my hall clad as for war?” demanded Isabeau. “If your thoughts are martial then better that you should be with our king in Normandy to win the lands for his son.”

“Better, Mistress, that I come clad as for war, than that I come clad as for whore, like Danforth,” declared Fleury.

“I told you the lady would mislike your martial appearance,” said Danforth, with a tight little smile of satisfaction.  “My lady; Fleury and I wish to pay our respects and to ask if you have made any decision regarding the choice of a husband.”

“Sir Gilbert, if I had been able to lay aside mine grief for such a decision, it would not be your business, nor that of Sir Hugh, to ask such information,” said Isabeau.  “You are neither of you relatives of mine that might be entitled to such.  I will take mine own council on the matter, in mine own good time.”

Fleury went purple; it was not a colour that flattered his complexion.

“Froward wench, you know that you have to choose one or other of us,” he snarled.

“Sir Hugh, I do not,” said Isabeau.  “Indeed, I had considered taking advice from His Majesty, when he returns to England after the end of the campaigning season, to accept his choice of husband for me.  But there are other possibilities withall.”

“There are no other suitable unmarried knights who might administer thy lands in this region, Isabeau,” said Sir Gilbert.

“Sir Gilbert, nobody has given you permission to address me with the familiar ‘thy’ nor to make free with my name,” said Isabeau.

“Thou’lt take one of us as thy husband, and shalt be glad to be given a familiar address,” said Sir Hugh.

“The lady did not make you free with so insulting a form of speech either,” said Wulfric, tautly.

“I did not ask thee, thou jumped-up Saxon dog,” sneered Fleury.

“Thy family were but little more than naifs and vassals to the Bigod brood ere thy fathers hung on their coat-tails to make craven passage to lands, gaining their holdings by getting their noses brown, whilst my lady’s family were already landed,” said Wulfric.

Fleury raised his hand, still holding a riding crop.

Isabeau threw the contents of her goblet in his face.

“Shalt not touch my man in my halls,” she said. 

“I will have him punished,” snarled Fleury.

“For what?  Defending mine honour against a boor?  Any man hath the right to defend his betrothed wife’s honour against some interloper.”

Wulfric  swallowed hard so as not to choke on his ale.

Fleury stared.

“Betrothed?  Thou wouldst wed a Saxon? Art insane?”

“Be very careful, Sir Hugh, for such words are akin to treason.  Is not our own king’s queen the granddaughter of Edmund Ironsides, a good Saxon Princess as she is?  To disparage the sanity of one who would wed a Saxon is to disparage the sanity of the king, who would not be pleased to hear of such.”

“Fleury, art bested,” said Danforth, who did not look displeased at his crony’s discomfort.  “Lady Isabeau, I confess, I find your choice to be astounding, but perhaps you will find out for yourself that so hasty and unredy a decision is inapposite.”

“I thank you for heeding my wishes with regards to how you might address me,” said Isabeau.  “I had not intended revealing my choice until the time was more auspicious, but as you may both see, your continued suit of me is but a waste of your time, and quite unnecessary.”

Danforth bowed, and Isabeau made herself smile, as she suppressed a shudder at the look of venom he cast at Wulfric.

“I do not accept the choice as valid,” said Fleury, stubbornly.

“Then I pray you, Sir Hugh, to live in denial some place other than my hall,” said Isabeau.

 

Wulfric held his temper in check as the knights departed, only the tightness around his mouth betraying his anger; and waited until all had finished their meal and arisen before seizing Isabeau by the arm and almost thrusting her into the lower solar chamber.

“Wulfric!  You are hurting me!” Isabeau protested.

“And you think that toying with me by making that outrageous statement did not hurt me?” growled Wulfric.

“Less, I wager, than if either of those beasts had decided you should be flogged,” retorted Isabeau.  “Oh Wulfric, they might have killed you!  I was so scared of what they might do; and it buys me time, if you will let the betrothal stand, even if you don’t consider me a suitable wife.”

“I could aspire to no better, but I am a proud man, and will not be treated as a toy, a plaything to be your steward, and husband in name alone,” Wulfric scowled at her, but he had loosed the grip on her arm.

“It would not be so!” protested Isabeau, “if you wished to marry me, we should be husband and wife, but only if I were permitted equal say in the running of the lands, not treated like a chattel, only fit to bear children.”

“You do not want children?”

“Oh Wulfric, do you wilfully misunderstand me?  Of course I want children! But I want to be treated as a person, not … not a womb with legs!”

“Think ye that I should so treat you?” he was hurt.

“I had never thought you would, which was why I made the suggestion in the first place. We have been friends so long, since first you came here as a youth of fifteen summers, demanding that you should be steward to help my father to understand his people.  I was but eight summers old, and how fine, and big and brave I thought you, and you, big boy that you were, took notice of me, and listened to my thoughts, and took me riding, and showed me the land.  But … you were so angry that I suggested a partnership.”

“No, lady, I was not angry at that.  I was angry that your suggestion seemed to be that we should continue ‘in the same way’ you said, mistress and servant.”

Isabeau gasped and put a hand to her mouth, her pale face suffused with blood.

“Ooooh, Wulfric, that was never what I meant,” she said.  “I meant, we might continue to be friends as we always have been, and no other man to come between us as a husband might. You have ever been my friend, even more so than my cousin Piers the Warrener.”

“I would want more than friendship,” Wulfric took her chin between his big hands, and cradled it. “More than just a pact to produce children.  I would want us to belong to each other totally, physically, as well.”

Isabeau blushed.

“Like … like that kiss?” she whispered.

“The one we forgot about? Like, but not like,” he said.  “Isabeau, you lioness, I want to kiss you because you are a beautiful woman.  The share in what would have once been my lands would be a bonus, but it is you I want, and I want it in the core of my being.  And that kiss that we cannot remember ever happening was taken in anger, not given in love.”

“Ohh…” said Isabeau, blushing again.  “I … my memory is so very contrary and my lips still remember it.”

“I am sorry.”

“My lips are not,” said Isabeau.  “I think … I think they would like a kiss given in love to teach them how to remember more clearly.”

Wulfric swept her into his arms, and his lips descended on hers.  Isabeau slid her arms around his body to cling to his broad back, letting the feelings his kiss awakened in her body drive her body to press close.

He let her go at the sound of the latch on the solar door, and Isabeau stumbled and almost fell, steadied by a quick hand as old Alice came in.

“My naughty puss, I know you have business to discuss, but you should not be in here with Wulfric without me,” chided the old woman.

“No, Dame Alice, I beg your pardon,” said Isabeau.  She kept her face downcast, to hide her blushes.   Dame Alice hobbled over to her seat by the fire, and picked up her embroidery. 

“Wulfric … “ said Isabeau.

“We will marry,” said Wulfric, “and to hell with those Norman puppies.  My blood is every bit as good as theirs and better, and almost as good as that of Queen Edith.”

“Queen Mahaud[1],” said Isabeau, glancing up at him between her lashes with a twinkle in her eyes.  This was a running argument between them, and was taken lightly.

“Edith she was born and it’s a good Saxon name,” said Wulfric.

“And Mahaud she has become to make it more acceptable to the barons; the king has to keep their support with Robert Curthose ready to try to take the kingdom again.”

“It’s a foreign name.  If she’d been christened Mahaud to start off with, it would have been of no moment; it would be like you suddenly becoming … oh, Mildryth, because of marrying a Saxon.”

Isabeau was much struck.

“I do see what you mean,” she said.  “But I suppose kings and queens have less choice of what to do if they want to keep their kingdoms intact.”

“I don’t have to like it though,” he said.

“Nobody asked you to,” she replied. 

“I would never want you to change your name; it is a part of you,” he said. 

“But then, King Henry has not watched his wife grow up,” said Isabeau.

He nodded.

“I suppose it makes a difference.  I … you had always been a little girl to me, until your father died.  Was killed.  And then suddenly, because you had to, you became a woman.”

“And you liked what you saw of the change?” she peeped up at him.

“Do not play with me, Isabeau!” he almost snarled.  “You know I more than like the woman you have grown into.  I always loved the child, but the love is … different.  And I have not so much self control that I will not show you how I feel if you tease me.”

“And then you will be angry with me for making you lose self control, like you were when you took your shoe to my rump for jumping my horse carelessly and destroying stooks of wheat in the field.”

“Yes,” he said, shortly.  “You were thoughtless.”

“And I deserved the beating,” said Isabeau.  “I will try not to tease.”

“Good; we will not mention the subject again,” said Wulfric.  “We will instead discuss what Danforth and Fleury are likely to do next.”

“I should have thought that was obvious,” said Isabeau.  “They will try to kill you.”

“I am glad you recognise that,” said Wulfric.  “Had that occurred to you when you blithely told them we were betrothed?”

“Not immediately.  But how else was I to protect you at the time?  Whatever I said or did, one of them would have wished to hurt you, one way or another.  At least you are forewarned.”

“Yes, and I fancy they will find me harder to kill than your father, a man of more than forty summers and suffering from the pains of old wounds.  I am young and hale, and I wager I am fitter than Sir Hugh Fleury, for all his martial bearing.  If you ask me, he’s all squeak and no cods.”

“You may be correct, but I confess I find his manner of dressing to be quite intimidating.”

“And this is why I am here to protect you,” said Wulfric.  “Your father did me the compliment of treating me as well as he might an acknowledged bastard, and even if I did not wish to protect you anyway, I should wish to do so in his memory.”

“You can kill them for all I care, but I fear you would be taken up as a murderer were it not in a fight plainly started by one of them.”

He gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“And Sir Hugh is arrogant enough to think he might thus provoke me, and win easily.  But I had sword lessons from your father as well as from mine.”

“In sooth, I think he saw you as his squire as much as his steward,” said Isabeau.  “I have every faith in you having more skill and strength than Sir Hugh, and more shrewd cunning than Sir Gilbert.”

“I will pray your faith in me not be misplaced.”

“It won’t be.  And I also have faith in you to help me find out which of them killed my father: and I want you to come with me now to look at his gelding, and then the place where he fell.”

He shrugged.

“It has been several days; there may be nothing to see.”

“There may not.  But if we delay further there certainly will not be.”

 

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[1] Generally transliterated nowadays as Matilda but at the time Mahaud was one of the more common pronunciations which subsequently led to her daughter, Queen Matilda of Anarchy notoriety being known as Mathilda or Maud, as the exigencies of Norman French on the Gothic name Mechtildis mangled it.