‘Edmond,’ Raife said, and I registered through my shock how familiarly my husband addressed the king. ‘Edmond, my wife is unwell with her child, and is over-tired from her first day at court. May we have your permission to retire?’
Edmond gave it with a nod, then reached out with one of his hands, laying it over mine, still a-tremble in my lap. ‘Maeb?’
My tears spilled over now, both from my continued upset and from the care in his voice.
‘I am tired, and unwell,’ I said, ‘as Raife has said. I am sorry, my lord, that I —’
Edmond put his hand briefly to my lips, silencing me, then looked to Raife. ‘Rest a while in my privy chamber. I will send a man to get your horses saddled and to collect your retinue.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Raife said. He aided me to rise, and I dipped in courtesy before the king, who was still gazing at me with watchful concern, then we left the great hall and entered the king’s privy chamber via one of the connecting arches — I silently thanked sweet Jesu we did not have to use the gallery.
There were people about in the privy chamber, but there were silent, private spaces, too, and Raife sat me down on a bench in one of them. He sat close to me, and took my hands.
Still distressed, but more relieved than I can say to be with Raife, I allowed the tears to flow freely, and for some time all I did was weep as Raife tried to dry my tears away.
‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘what has happened?’ He paused. ‘Maeb?’ he said, with the same amount of frustration as the king.
I swallowed my tears and, somewhat haltingly at first, told him of the conversation with Henry and d’Ecouis.
‘They think your father became privy to “secrets”?’ Raife said. ‘That he made off with something, some jewels?’
I nodded.
‘What did they mean?’ Raife said.
‘I don’t know!’ I replied.
‘Your father did not return from the Holy Lands with any jewels? Of any description? He did not leave you any “baubles”?’
‘No. He left me nothing save some rags and a good enough name to join your household. There were no jewels. No secrets. Nothing.’
Raife sat back a little, one of his hands resting on the purse I had stitched for him, his fingers tapping, looking at me although I could tell his mind was far away. Then, just as he was about to speak, one of the king’s men appeared before us, saying that our horses and retinue awaited.
Chapter Seven
We arrived home. I was exhausted and fraught. I could see Evelyn wanted to know what had happened, but I did not want to tell her and she kept her peace. All I wanted was my bed and Raife to hold me for the night.
In the morning I lay abed as Raife dressed. Once garbed, he waved Charles away and sat on the side of the bed.
‘You will stay quiet for the day,’ he said.
I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more.
‘Edmond will want to know what happened,’ he said.
‘Tell him,’ I said. I had not wanted to talk with Edmond last night because I knew I would do little more than weep, as I had with Raife, but there was nothing about that conversation I needed to hide, nor wished to. I still had no idea what Henry and d’Ecouis wanted, or what they meant.
Once Raife had gone I summoned Evelyn, and she helped me dress. We prayed, then broke our fast in the solar. I felt better now, and I gave Evelyn a lively account of what my day at court had been like, leaving out only that time Henry and d’Ecouis had me trapped in the gallery. I did not want to answer questions about it, and I feared that Evelyn would have nothing but advice for me, which I could not stomach. I said that the day had wearied me and that I had felt indisposed, which is why I’d been so pale and silent the night before.
The house steward fitzErfast came to speak with me mid-morning to arrange some household matters, and then, almost as soon as he had left Lady Alianor de Lacy arrived.
Her cheerful face was welcome, and I rose to kiss her as she came into the chamber.
Evelyn, who had been sitting with me, now gathered her needlework and left us alone, and Alianor and I spent the morning chatting, and recalling yesterday’s events. She, too, wanted to know why I had left so precipitously, and I had no hesitation in telling her. I did not know why Henry and d’Ecouis accused me, or even of what they accused me, but I wanted word to spread through court of my indignation and innocence before they could spread rumour of whatever sin they imagined me guilty.
I had learned yesterday’s lessons in court-craft well.
‘Alianor,’ I said, ‘I have no idea what the Templars want of me, or of what they suspect me. Do you know?’
The direct question, and its indirect reference to her kinsman Sir Gilbert, the other Templar we had seen at court yesterday, surprised Alianor.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not know. I can make gentle enquiry of Sir Gilbert. Maybe he knows. But he is more a Templar, and far less a de Lacy. He will remember his loyalty to them first when he answers.’
Thus her answer. The de Lacys were not likely to shed any light on the mystery. I nodded, and accepted it. I’d had no expectations of Alianor on this matter, but I had wanted to remind her that I knew how close by blood she was to the Templars.
I had learned yesterday’s lessons in court-craft well.
Close to sext, when a servitor brought us a light meal, fitzErfast came to tell me a knight from Edmond’s retinue had arrived and would I see him.
Curious, I nodded, and a short while later fitzErfast escorted a handsome and well-dressed young man of my own age into the solar. He bowed deeply before me, and introduced himself as Roger de Douai. He was so good looking and had such an open air of honesty about him, that I liked him instantly.
He sat at my invitation, withdrawing a small fabric-wrapped parcel from a pocket deep within his surcoat.
‘My lady,’ he said, extending the parcel to me, ‘please accept this small gift from my lord king, who has asked me to attend you today.’
‘A gift?’ I said, hesitating to accept it.
Alianor caught my eye and gave an imperceptible nod.
I reached out and took the parcel from de Douai.
‘My lord king wishes you to know of his concern,’ de Douai said. ‘He is worried that you were somehow discomposed at his court, and also worried for your health and that of your child. This gift is a token of his concern, and wishes that you will accept it as such only.’
That ‘only’ carried with it an entire conversation’s worth of words. He was concerned, and it was concern only which prompted this gift. It was not meant to bribe me into his bed.
It was also not an apology on behalf of his son who, if Raife had not already told him, Edmond must have suspected of having some hand in my distress.
I was genuinely touched by Edmond’s concern, and understood the lack of apology on behalf of his son. I untied the ribbon holding the fabric and slowly unwrapped my gift.
Nestled into a delicately embroidered square of fine woollen cloth was the loveliest mantle clasp I had ever seen. Made of gold, it was intricately worked and twisted, embedded all about with garnets and tiny pearls.
It was a precious, precious gift.
I stared at it a long moment, then looked to Alianor. She was also gazing at it with round eyes, and her surprise made me realise that Edmond did not routinely lavish gifts such as this on women of his court.
I wondered where it had come from, for Edmond certainly could not have caused it to be crafted in the space of a single night.
‘The clasp once belonged to Edmond’s lady mother,’ de Douai said, as if he had read my mind, ‘who my lord king honoured and respected.’
Now I was truly shocked. This clasp had once adorned a queen. That gave it wealth and meaning far beyond its value in gold and gems.
Again I glanced at Alianor, and saw that she was now quite stunned. This clasp was an astounding gift.
I wondered what Henry would do if he saw me wearing it at court.
‘Sir Roger,’ I said in a voice surprisingly calm, given my deep emotion, ‘I cannot thank my lord king enough for the gift and the care and concern that lies behind it. This must have been a treasured piece, and to gift it to me … please tell him I am deeply, deeply honoured, and will cherish this clasp.’