The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

But I could not rest immediately.

Isouda and Evelyn came to me as I sat in a chair, but I asked Isouda to wait in the solar for a while.

When she had gone, I turned to Evelyn.

She would not look me in the face. ‘Why?’ I said.

Evelyn dropped to her knees, weeping. ‘He threatened my daughter, my lady. I beg you to forgive me.’

I looked over Evelyn’s bowed form to Raife, standing arms crossed and leaning against a wall.

He shook his head slightly.

‘He said he would see her cast out from de Tosny’s household,’ Evelyn continued, her words falling over each other, ‘and that he would see to it that she would not be accepted elsewhere. My lady, she would have had to wander the streets, and —’

‘Enough, Evelyn,’ I said, wearied beyond measure. I felt for her, and even understood why she had betrayed me. Henry commanded the power to have done as he threatened — and Evelyn loved her daughter. I wished now I had asked Evelyn’s daughter to serve with me, because then she would have been safe, and Evelyn not vulnerable.

But I also knew Evelyn would not have betrayed Adelie in this manner.

‘You could have asked either myself or the earl for aid,’ I said.

‘Forgive me,’ Evelyn said.

Perhaps I could find it in my heart to forgive her, but I would never trust her again. I rued that our friendship had come to this, but Evelyn had never been comfortable with my elevation from the lowest of the countess’ attending women to the rank of countess, and maybe the friendship had died months ago.

I did not know what to do. I looked over to Raife.

‘You will not serve my lady again,’ Raife said, his voice hard, emotionless, ‘nor any lady, for I shall ensure that word of your action spreads.’

I could see the back of Evelyn’s head tremble, and her hands clutch together.

‘But I also know my wife holds you in affection,’ Raife continued, ‘and for that reason alone I shall not cast you out without hope. I shall settle on you a cottage and some land in Donecastre. I am patron of an almshouse close to there and you may serve the master and help as you might.’

Poor Evelyn. She was to be sent far north, where she might never see her daughter again. While her keep was assured, with the cottage and land and position under the master of the almshouse, another place serving within a noble household was now beyond her. No one would take her after what she had done to me, nor would they take her from an almshouse, from where most would fear she might carry disease.

‘Now leave,’ Raife said. ‘FitzErfast will see to the arrangements.’

Evelyn rose, sending me one single glance as she did so, and then she was out the door, and out of my life.

I missed her; missed her companionship and our memories of shared life together within Adelie’s household.

She was almost the last reminder I had of my life as Mistress Maeb Langtofte.

Isouda came and helped me disrobe, and put me to bed, promising to return with a warm herbal to drink. Raife waited until she was gone, then he came over to the bed, sitting down by me.

He picked up my right hand, tracing one finger about its palm before enclosing it between both of his hands.

‘My God, Mae,’ he said. ‘I have never known such terror as I felt this morning.’ His hands tightened about mine.

‘Raife, I knew that the —’

‘Don’t say it,’ he said suddenly. ‘Don’t. I know what happened.’

‘You do?’

‘You have a powerful protector,’ he said. There came a significant pause. ‘In God.’

I studied him, somewhat perplexed. I thought for a moment he referred to the knight, but then to add the ‘In God’?

He lifted one hand to lay his forefinger on my lips. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You trod the paths.’

I nodded, slowly. He did not wish me to speak of it, and used his own voice to lay a false trail. Why?

He bent down and kissed me, slowly, sweetly.

The door opened, and Isouda came back, bearing a steaming cup of something that smelled sweet.

‘Drink this,’ said Raife, ‘and then sleep.’

Chapter Six

Winter was colder than it had been for many years. The period from Martinmas to Christmastide was one of storms and icy sleet interspersed with snow. Edmond’s Advent court celebrations turned to indoor activities, and the sudden cold snap appeared to dampen even those celebrations, for the mood of the court often turned as grey as the skies outside.

I certainly did not enjoy the remainder of the Advent court so much. This was likely due more to the lingering effects of my ordeal than the weather. People were cautious around me, not so much due to Henry’s accusations, but because anyone so obviously God-touched as to emerge from the ordeal of the burning gauntlet completely unmarked was someone, apparently, to avoid; lest perhaps I slapped their faces, too, and God marked the guilt (from whatever misdemeanour or sin) in maille weave on their cheeks.

Partly as a result of what she had done for me on the day of the ordeal, and partly because others were more careful of me, my friendship with Alianor de Lacy became stronger and truer and I spent much of my time at court in her company.

Henry vanished from court. I do not know where he went, but I was deeply thankful he had gone. I did hear that, as his father had foretold, his cheek scarred deeply during healing and he would remain marked for the rest of his life.

His cheek would serve to remind Henry constantly of his humiliation that day.

I knew that, whereas Henry had been my enemy beforehand, now he was my bitterest of foes. I prayed often, either to sweet Jesu and all the saints, or to my miraculous knight protector, that Henry would heed his father’s warning and tread more lightly about me.

After Advent court Raife and I took our household back to Cornhill. I stepped inside the house cautiously, wondering how it would feel. Thankfully, it did feel cleansed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked through the hall, past the stairs down to the crypt, and up to the first floor to our privy chambers. The house felt empty without Evelyn, though. I thought of her often, and wished that our friendship had not been so soured, nor sundered by betrayal.

In her absence I had acquired not one but two more women. Ella Peverel was a Norman woman of good family, who came to attend me alongside Isouda. Gytha was a girl just past sixteen, but known throughout London for her ability to dress hair. She had already served in two noble households and now came to me. I liked them both, but felt more warmth toward Gytha who almost never spoke but would glance at me shyly as she worked wonders with my hair.

After Henry’s attack on me in court, Raife appointed Gilbert Ghent as my permanent escort. If I so much as stepped foot outside then Ghent was by my side, and there he stayed with almost religious fanaticism after what he perceived as his failure to keep me in sight in the forest that day of the hunt. If Ghent would have preferred some more manly duty then he never showed it. He became a good companion, a friend, and trailed uncomplainingly behind me as Alianor and I sought out ribbons and baubles in the covered stalls and shops of West Cheap.

On the second last day of Advent, the day before the Vigil of the Nativity of Christ, a raging storm blew in from the ocean. Our household spent the day huddled about fires, windows tightly shuttered, listening to the roaring of the wind and the thunder of the rain outside. I was glad of the safety of a stone house, and thought those who sheltered in wooden or wattle and daub houses must be truly terrified.

We escaped unscathed, save for some minor water stains where rain had leaked in through cracks in the roof, but when we emerged the next morning, the Vigil of the Nativity, it was to see that the storm had wreaked much havoc through the city.

Raife sent soldiers and servants to give aid (as did most of the noble households currently resident in and about London), and our kitchen cooked bread and pease pudding for those whose fires had been dampened by inundations. As the day drew on, we heard reports of much damage from around the city: much of the building work on Saint Paul’s had been undone; many houses in East Cheap and Rother Lane had been blown completely apart and their beams and debris littered both streets; the wharves along the Thames had been affected and much merchandise lost after an exceptionally high tide driven by the winds had invaded some of the warehouses. Miraculously, in this Christmastide season, no one had lost their life.