“It ain’t about nobility,” I snapped back. “Faithfulness is God’s own law. It’s a commandment. Break it or don’t but don’t say that nobles aren’t accountable.”
“Royalty is picked by God,” she told me. “They rule by the right of God. That’s why it’s a mortal sin to spill their blood, to dishonor them. And John is no different.” She tossed her hair again. “Besides, I hold no illusions that he ever loved me for more than the gold I brought him. I know him better than he thinks I do, you know. I see him looking at that French tart Isabelle—like two more letters without sound makes her name so much more elegant than mine—and he doesn’t care for her beauty. He sees French armies, French power. French gold. When he wants beauty he’ll turn to Lady Essex.”
Who were the French Isabelle? I wanted to know, but it didn’t seem wise to ask.
“You see, you think you’re so very special for your marriage without love. So tortured and martyred. But we all marry without love, Marian. You aren’t special at all.”
I frowned. “Did I ever say different?”
Isabel stopped. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing, and even Guy clearly knows something and won’t tell me. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re about, Isabel,” I told her.
“Eleanor!” she near shouted, and looked around like it might summon the white lady. “What interest does Eleanor have in you, your parents, the lot of it?”
“My parents?”
She folded her arms. “Eleanor of Aquitaine saw the lord and lady Leaford off from the courtyard this morning. In the snow. Alone. I saw her embrace Lady Leaford,” she told me, her nose raised higher than ever. “Tell me what that is about this moment.”
My face folded into a scowl. “Your Highness, you should ask Eleanor. Or my husband, it seems, but I don’t know a damn thing about it.” She started to speak again and I shook my head. “I intend to find a fire,” I told her.
She crossed her arms and frowned at me, but she let me go.
I skirted round the edge of things, looking for Eleanor. I saw her standing near one of the great bonfires built on the edge of the nobles’ area—I reckoned much to keep the common sort out. Whether or not she were wearing one, she always looked like she should have a great crown upon her head. Her skin were wrinkled over again and again, in a way that made her look lived-in and world-wise. She were small, but she had brought England and France to their knees, with every man in between begging for her. She had crumbled old kings and raised up new ones.
She were everything a woman could ever dare to be, and my heart felt such a kinship for her. Yet I didn’t move much forward, staying back, knowing if I went to her I couldn’t help but ask all my questions.
Like she felt me watching her, she turned and looked to me, folding her hands in front of her. She met my eyes and nodded once.
I stepped forward.
The horn blew, calling out for the next round, and we went back to the dais.
The next round seemed awful slow. Now the archers had to shoot three arrows from the increased distance, one in each of the three different circles. It were a feat of skill what would narrow the field down sharp, but rather than understand this and allow themselves to be picked off, the louts went about it slow and deliberate, like waiting and licking their lips would help them strike a target.
My hand set to aching besides. It hadn’t been bad; I kept it out from the blankets so it never got too warm, and that had worked for the first two rounds. By the end of the third, I were breathing harder and could bare sit still as the pain mounted.
The third round narrowed to Rob and Gisbourne, and as the crowd cheered and jumped and waved, there were only one still body in the lot, and he were looking at me. Allan nodded slowly and my heart jumped.
The horn sounded, and I leapt from my chair. Skirting wide around the bonfires, I moved quick to get to the stands and through the crowd. The people swallowed me up, bodies pressing and pushing on every side, and I yelped as someone knocked into my hurt hand. The fellow turned and gave me a dirty look.
A big body stepped in front of my path, and a warm arm came around my shoulders. “Need a hand?” Much asked, keeping me behind the shield of John’s back.
He raised his stump with a grin and I frowned. “Terrible humor, Much.”
He shrugged, his grin fixed still. “Nobody thinks I’m very funny.”
John started moving, forcing people out of the way like a wave. “I need to find Allan,” I told Much.
“I know. He was asking for you.”
“Did you find anything?” I asked him. “Did he?”
“Find anything about what?” John asked.
“I asked the monks,” Much said. “They remember when Leaford announced his second child, but they didn’t attend lady Leaford.”
“Had they for Joanna?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this about?” John asked. “What about your parents?”
I sighed and shook my head, and John craned round to glimpse me do it. “I’ll tell you later, John,” Much said.
John scowled. “Just because I’m out doesn’t mean I want to be kept out,” he grumbled.
“Allan!” I yelled, seeing the red of his hat. It ducked and bobbed and reappeared a moment later by me.
“My lady thief,” he said, taking my good hand and kissing it. His eyes fell on my arm, tucked in the sling, and his head lowered. “Yesterday—I didn’t know what had happened.”
“Royalty is picked by God,” she told me. “They rule by the right of God. That’s why it’s a mortal sin to spill their blood, to dishonor them. And John is no different.” She tossed her hair again. “Besides, I hold no illusions that he ever loved me for more than the gold I brought him. I know him better than he thinks I do, you know. I see him looking at that French tart Isabelle—like two more letters without sound makes her name so much more elegant than mine—and he doesn’t care for her beauty. He sees French armies, French power. French gold. When he wants beauty he’ll turn to Lady Essex.”
Who were the French Isabelle? I wanted to know, but it didn’t seem wise to ask.
“You see, you think you’re so very special for your marriage without love. So tortured and martyred. But we all marry without love, Marian. You aren’t special at all.”
I frowned. “Did I ever say different?”
Isabel stopped. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing, and even Guy clearly knows something and won’t tell me. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re about, Isabel,” I told her.
“Eleanor!” she near shouted, and looked around like it might summon the white lady. “What interest does Eleanor have in you, your parents, the lot of it?”
“My parents?”
She folded her arms. “Eleanor of Aquitaine saw the lord and lady Leaford off from the courtyard this morning. In the snow. Alone. I saw her embrace Lady Leaford,” she told me, her nose raised higher than ever. “Tell me what that is about this moment.”
My face folded into a scowl. “Your Highness, you should ask Eleanor. Or my husband, it seems, but I don’t know a damn thing about it.” She started to speak again and I shook my head. “I intend to find a fire,” I told her.
She crossed her arms and frowned at me, but she let me go.
I skirted round the edge of things, looking for Eleanor. I saw her standing near one of the great bonfires built on the edge of the nobles’ area—I reckoned much to keep the common sort out. Whether or not she were wearing one, she always looked like she should have a great crown upon her head. Her skin were wrinkled over again and again, in a way that made her look lived-in and world-wise. She were small, but she had brought England and France to their knees, with every man in between begging for her. She had crumbled old kings and raised up new ones.
She were everything a woman could ever dare to be, and my heart felt such a kinship for her. Yet I didn’t move much forward, staying back, knowing if I went to her I couldn’t help but ask all my questions.
Like she felt me watching her, she turned and looked to me, folding her hands in front of her. She met my eyes and nodded once.
I stepped forward.
The horn blew, calling out for the next round, and we went back to the dais.
The next round seemed awful slow. Now the archers had to shoot three arrows from the increased distance, one in each of the three different circles. It were a feat of skill what would narrow the field down sharp, but rather than understand this and allow themselves to be picked off, the louts went about it slow and deliberate, like waiting and licking their lips would help them strike a target.
My hand set to aching besides. It hadn’t been bad; I kept it out from the blankets so it never got too warm, and that had worked for the first two rounds. By the end of the third, I were breathing harder and could bare sit still as the pain mounted.
The third round narrowed to Rob and Gisbourne, and as the crowd cheered and jumped and waved, there were only one still body in the lot, and he were looking at me. Allan nodded slowly and my heart jumped.
The horn sounded, and I leapt from my chair. Skirting wide around the bonfires, I moved quick to get to the stands and through the crowd. The people swallowed me up, bodies pressing and pushing on every side, and I yelped as someone knocked into my hurt hand. The fellow turned and gave me a dirty look.
A big body stepped in front of my path, and a warm arm came around my shoulders. “Need a hand?” Much asked, keeping me behind the shield of John’s back.
He raised his stump with a grin and I frowned. “Terrible humor, Much.”
He shrugged, his grin fixed still. “Nobody thinks I’m very funny.”
John started moving, forcing people out of the way like a wave. “I need to find Allan,” I told Much.
“I know. He was asking for you.”
“Did you find anything?” I asked him. “Did he?”
“Find anything about what?” John asked.
“I asked the monks,” Much said. “They remember when Leaford announced his second child, but they didn’t attend lady Leaford.”
“Had they for Joanna?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this about?” John asked. “What about your parents?”
I sighed and shook my head, and John craned round to glimpse me do it. “I’ll tell you later, John,” Much said.
John scowled. “Just because I’m out doesn’t mean I want to be kept out,” he grumbled.
“Allan!” I yelled, seeing the red of his hat. It ducked and bobbed and reappeared a moment later by me.
“My lady thief,” he said, taking my good hand and kissing it. His eyes fell on my arm, tucked in the sling, and his head lowered. “Yesterday—I didn’t know what had happened.”
