Along the Thames itself, from London to Westminster, the high waters and winds had damaged many craft. Scores of barges and boats, however tightly secured along the banks and flats of the river, had been wrenched from their moorings by the wind and waves and, as the tide receded, were borne down the river to London Bridge where they wrapped themselves about its piers and struts. There was such a chaos of splintered timbers now lodged under the bridge, so I heard, that much of the flow of the river was impeded and, in the absence of the storm, the water upriver of the bridge had become almost a still pond.
It would take months to clear the mess, and that not likely to start until after the celebrations of Christmastide.
Later that day, Raife and I once more embarked with a large part of our household to take up residence in the Tower chambers Edmond had assigned us. Now it was Christmastide court, a chance for Edmond to demonstrate his largesse to those he invited — mostly the greater nobility of the country but also most of the aldermen and the more powerful among the merchants and traders of London.
The memory of my ordeal had faded somewhat, and most gossiped now about the storm and the damage done to London and various villages along the Thames to its mouth. Christmastide court, Edmond’s Advent court, passed amid cheer and celebration, with much feasting, plays, dancing and games.
The Christmas Feast held in the great hall of the Conqueror’s Tower was memorable. The hall was decorated in greenery, holly and mistletoe, with ribbons strung all over. I was dressed in such finery, and Raife, too — oh, we were splendid! Raife had given me a beautiful coronet (he wore one as well), all gold and precious gems, and Gytha had outdone herself, twisting my hair in intricate weaves through the gold of the coronet and then down my back with gems glittering within the complicated braiding.
Edmond sat Raife and myself at high table. We sat to either side of him, which was a great honour. That afternoon and night was filled with feasting and games and dancing. The king gave us both stunning gifts: for Raife a salt cellar in the shape of a unicorn, delicately worked in gold and silver, and for me a beautiful deep-green, fur-lined mantle … ‘To go with the clasp,’ he said as he gifted it to me.
Both our table placements and our gifts signified to the court as nothing else in what affectionate favour the king held us.
It was such a merry night of wassailing: I drank perhaps a little too much posset — a rich, thick drink of ale and egg, honey and spices — but no one seemed to mind that my smiles became a little freer as the night wore on. The Yule log hissed and spat in the fireplace, the multitude of candles burned bright, everyone in the hall exchanged kisses of friendship, and all seemed so well with my world.
The storm seemed to have cleared winter of much of its early malice, and, while it was still cold, the wind and rain and sleet had stopped. Thus — once we had quite recovered from the richness and excess of the Christmas Feast! — we were able to enjoy jousts and races and games on the fields abutting the Conqueror’s Tower. Everyone was wrapped up in one, or even two, thick mantles and furs (I, of course, wore the king’s gift), and with hoods drawn close about our faces we made the most of the entertainment, the wine and food and the cheer. I was now far enough into my pregnancy that all queasiness of stomach had passed, and I did not tire so much, and I truly enjoyed the twelve days of festivity.
Toward the end of Christmastide court, Edmond suggested to many of the noblemen that they embark on a hunt through the forests and woodlands east of London. Edmond had manors to the east, as did several other noblemen, and Edmond proposed a hunt extending for scores of miles with nightly rests and feasts at various manor houses.
The men thought it a splendid idea (those whose manor houses were to be engulfed by a royal visit, and its expense, managed to keep their sinking stomachs to themselves). Their wives, also, thought it splendid, for we suddenly envisaged a quiet week or so of gentler entertainments after the excitement of court.
Raife was as eager as the rest about the prospect of a winter hunt through the crisp, white landscape. He was somewhat anxious about me, especially after the incident with the imp the last time he had left me alone in the Cornhill house, but when Alianor suggested that I stay with her and Robert de Lacy in their manor hall in the meadows north of Holbournestrate, just outside London, he greeted the idea with relief (and I with considerable enthusiasm).
Thus it was that, on the day after the Feast of the Epiphany, while our men rode with the hounds and their hawks to the east, the de Lacys and I (along with Ghent, four other soldiers, my three women, and several servants and grooms) rose westward out of London along Holbournestrate. We were doubly lucky on that journey, in that the sun shone bright but the chill air froze the roadway mud beneath us. I nestled inside my fur-lined mantle, its hood about my head, and relaxed on Dulcette’s back. We rode along at a sedate pace, mindful of the horses’ footing on the icy road. Dulcette seemed to know of my pregnancy, for she stepped sure and smooth, and did not tire me by pulling on the reins.
The fields were frozen under a layer of white, the rooks distinctive black smudges as they sifted through the snow to find worms and insects. Everything was quiet. It was too cold yet to work in the fields and most people were, I imagine, content to rest after twelve days of Christmastide indulgence. To the north of us the stalls and pens of Smithfield market stood empty — just a few cattle and pigs left to forage for food in the pens before trading began anew in a few days. The only sign of life came from the nearby Saint Bartholomew’s priory and hospital, where smoke rising from chimneys suggested warm fires and kitchens.
As we rode further along Holbournestrate we came to a newly built church on the southern side of the street. It was entirely round, very solid, and had many outbuildings: a hall, dormitories, stables, kitchens, bakehouses and a brewery. Behind the complex I could see a fishpond and an orchard, both currently as white and still as the rest of the fields, the branches of the orchard’s trees bleak and thin in the winter air.
‘What Order is this?’ I asked Alianor curiously.
She gave me an amused glance and chuckled. ‘It is the Temple — the Templar’s church,’ she said.
We pulled the horses to a halt, looking over the church.
‘I very much doubt your curiosity will get you entry,’ Robert said. ‘The Templars are known women haters.’
I grunted. Fulke d’Ecouis certainly seemed to have taken a dislike to me.
Then — as if thought had given flesh to name — d’Ecouis and another, older Templar, walked out of the Church and halted as they spotted our party in the middle of Holbournestrate, staring at them. Immediately they came toward us, leaping smoothly over the roadside ditch, as sure-footed in the treacherous conditions as I suppose only men of God can be.
‘My lady countess,’ d’Ecouis said to me, then greeted the de Lacys. He turned slightly, indicating his companion.
He was an older man, his hair silvered but his body still wide with muscle. He looked at us with a bright blue gaze that was both bold and curious.
‘This is Hugh of Argentine,’ d’Ecouis said. ‘Our newly arrived Master of Temple.’
We all inclined our heads to the master, as he did to us. We passed a few minutes in idle conversation — the storm, the coldness of the air, our destination — then d’Ecouis indicated me as he spoke.
‘Master,’ he said, ‘the countess is the only child of Godfrey Langtofte.’
Instantly, Hugh’s eyes became keen, penetrating, and he stepped forward to lay a hand on Dulcette’s neck, as if to prevent me riding away.
‘Your father was a member of our Order in Jerusalem,’ Hugh said. ‘I recall him well.’
I sighed inwardly. ‘He was a sergeant, I believe. He came home the winter before last, only to die within weeks.’
‘We must remember him together sometime,’ Hugh said.
‘I have done my grieving for my father,’ I said, ‘and would prefer not to rekindle it.’
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps so,’ he said, ‘but there are matters left untended and —’