"And, undoubtedly, by Henry Beauclerc, our sovereign, who probably made no bones about his attraction to your stepdaughter. He's been like a randy old billygoat of late, with the queen so big with child and inaccessible to his passions. He has, I am told, already impregnated two ladies of rank in his lust. The legion of his bastards certainly grows with each passing day. I hope that your poor Isabelle does not become enceinte by him. With her husband away, there would be no pretending that the child was his. What a scandal would erupt!"

"Holy Mother!" Rolf exclaimed. "I had not considered it."

Mavis of Farnley rolled her blue eyes back in her head. "Men," she said scathingly, "seldom do. You never, ever contemplate the result of your lusts." Then she laughed. "Oh, come along, Rolf de Briard, and let us join the others in the Great Hall. You have many friends here who will be happy to welcome you back to court and congratulate you on your good fortune." She slipped her hand through his arm and led him off.

Belle and Agneatha had meanwhile returned to their assigned chamber. They had hung the fustian curtains about the bed, and made both it and the trundle up. Isabelle's trunk had been brought to the chamber by the Langston men. Agneatha started a fire in the fireplace, and closed the shutters over the window so that they might be snug. It had begun to rain outside, the first rain they had seen since leaving Langston. But the room was warm and dry, and almost friendly.

"I am starving," Isabelle said. "We have not eaten since we left the monastery guest house this morning. Find the Great Hall. Rolf will be there, or some of the Langston men. Tell them you want food for us, and then bring it back."

"Let me get us some water first," Agneatha said. "Then I will find us food. I'm hungry myself." She took up the pitcher, exiting the room, to return just a short while later carrying not just the pitcher, but a full bucket of water. "The nicest young man-at-arms helped me, and he let me take the extra bucket, too," she said.

While Agneatha disappeared off again to find them some supper, Belle nestled the pitcher in hot ashes in a corner of the fireplace to warm its contents so they might wash before retiring. She longed for a real bath, and wondered if such a thing was possible in this place.

It seemed a very long while before Agneatha returned, but she brought with her bread, cheese, a joint of mutton, and a carafe of wine with two goblets. These last were being carried by one of the Langston men.

"I found Lord Rolf in the hall, mistress," Agneatha said. "He showed me how to get food, and he sent Bert back to stand guard outside the chamber. He says to tell you he'll have one of our men there at all times, and he'll see you himself in the morning."

"Have you eaten, Bert?" Isabelle asked the man-at-arms.

"Aye, my lady. The food ain't as fresh as back home, though. I'll be glad when we goes back. How long must we stay?" Bert shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. He'd been asked by the others to see if he could ascertain this information.

"The king has sent a messenger to his brother's court in Normandy," Isabelle explained. "We must wait for his return. Until then my stepfather and I have been invited to hunt with the king." Then she smiled at the soldier. "I'd rather be home, too," she admitted.

"Well, now you've heard it from her ladyship herself, Bert," Agneatha said sharply. "Get on outside and do your duty so we can eat at last." She punctuated her order with a swift poke in his ribs.

Bert bowed and departed.

Agneatha set a rough table for her mistress and herself. They sat down and began to eat. The bread was fresh and the cheese tasty, but the mutton was tough, and Agneatha said so as she vigorously chewed the greasy meat and swallowed it down. Isabelle was hard-pressed not to laugh, and as it was, she could not restrain a giggle.

"You're right," she told her serving woman. "It's awful. You would think the king would eat better."

"I should have brought a piece of fish," Agneatha said, "but frankly I didn't like the smell of it. Maybe it was that fancy sauce."

"When we can eat in the hall it will be better," Isabelle said. "There will be more variety-at least I hope there will be."

They had finished their meal, and Agneatha had cleared the remnants away, when there was a knock upon the door. It opened to reveal a small boy, no more than six years of age. He was very elegantly attired, and stepped smartly past Bert, who held the door open for him with great aplomb. In his hands he carried a small willow basket. The lad bowed.

"Good evening, my lady Isabelle. I am Henry Beauchamp, a page in the king's service." He handed her the basket. "My lord the king thought you might enjoy these new strawberries, my lady."

"Please thank the king for me, Henry Beauchamp," Isabelle said politely. Then, unable to resist, she asked him, "How old are you?"

"I am six, my lady, and have been in the king's service a year," he piped. "When my mother died, I was sent to court. The king is my father, you see. It was felt my chances of advancement would be better if I were with him, rather than a simple memory." He bowed again. "I shall tell the king you are pleased, my lady, and I bid you good night. God give you a good rest and pleasant dreams."

"Holy Mother," Agneatha said as the boy departed. "What a fine young sir, and so tender in years, my lady."

"Yes," Isabelle said thoughtfully, picking at the pretty little strawberries that had been set upon a bed of green leaves. The boy was the king's bastard. What if she could not hold the king off and must submit to his desires? Would she, too, be the mother of a bastard? Hugh would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself! "Did your old granny have a potion for preventing a man's seed from taking root in the womb?" she demanded of Agneatha.

The girl flushed. "Why, my lady, what a wicked thought! Such a thing is forbidden," Agneatha protested.

"Tell me the truth," Isabelle said. "That child is the king's bastard. What if I must lie with the king? How can we keep such a secret if I return home to Langston with a big belly, and my husband gone all these months? I must be able to protect myself."

"There's certain herbs, mixed together, that can help you," Agneatha said slowly. "Perhaps I could obtain them in that market we was in this afternoon. I can go look tomorrow."

"Do so," Belle commanded her.

They washed in the warm water from the pitcher, undressed, and climbed into their beds, blowing out the candles beforehand. The fire died slowly, finally crumbling into a glow of orange coals that slowly faded away into a gray nothingness. At first Isabelle could hear the faint sounds of merriment somewhere within the castle, and then at last it died away and there was naught but silence, broken only by Agneatha's soft, gentle snoring.

Isabelle lay in her strange bed in her strange room in this strange place. What a day it had been, she thought. She had seen and learned more in this single day than in all the days of their journey up till now. She wondered what her new gowns would look like. She had never seen or felt such exquisite materials as those Rolf had purchased for her this afternoon. Though the king made her nervous, particularly the way his eyes had locked onto hers, if she had not come to court, she would not have ever known such beautiful clothing existed. Before they returned home she would purchase other material from Master John for her mother, so she might copy and sew her own fashionable gowns.

Agneatha awoke before her mistress, and rising, dressed, hurrying off to the Great Hall to find them some breakfast. She gathered up newly baked bread, butter, honey, and a couple of hard-boiled eggs she wheedled from a cook's helper with a jest and a smile. A Langston man joined her, explaining he would be relieving Bert, and so Agneatha sent him off to get them a pitcher of cider. Returning back to their chamber, she refilled the pitcher with fresh water and laid a new fire, tucking the pitcher back into its corner.

Hearing the activity about her, Isabelle awoke, amazed that she had slept through the sunrise. Stretching, she greeted Agneatha, "Good morning. How could I have slept so long? Is that fresh bread I smell?" She threw back the coverlet and stepped from the bed.

"Fresh bread, still warm from the ovens," Agneatha said with a smile. "Come, mistress, and eat your breakfast. The seamstress is certain to come this morning, and you'll want to be ready for her."

Belle sat down and tore off a piece from the loaf, smearing it with butter and dipping it in the honey. She popped it into her mouth, her pointed little tongue snaking out to catch a drizzle of honey. "That's sooo good," she said. "Eggs! You found eggs!" Reaching out, she began to peel one, and swiftly ate it down.

With a smile, her serving woman joined her, pouring Isabelle a goblet of foaming cider. The two women ate quickly, finishing everything that Agneatha had managed to bring back. There were some of the little strawberries left over, too, and they finished them off as well.

"I want a bath," Isabelle announced when they had finished and the table was cleared away. "I am filthy, and have not bathed since we left Langston over a week ago. My hair is filled with dust. Go and find my stepfather, Agneatha. Our man-at-arms should know where Rolf is. Tell him that I must have a bath! Surely they bathe at this court." Sitting back down upon the bed, she unbraided her hair, took up her brush, and vigorously began to brush the red-gold locks.

Agneatha disappeared from the chamber. When her hair was untangled, Isabelle arose, and, unbarring the shutters, flung them open to look out the window. Below her was the town of Winchester, the stones of its Romanesque cathedral gray in the rainy morning light. The sky was beginning to lighten considerably, and it appeared as if the day would be a pleasant one after all; but it was all so very different from home. Oh, Hugh, where are you? she thought. Come home to me. Please come home to me, my dearest lord. Then turning away from the window, she sighed.

There was a knock upon the door, and it opened to reveal Rolf de Briard. Entering, he kissed Belle upon her cheek. "Good morrow, Isabelle," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "I did, but I miss home, my lord."

"And you miss our fine bathing chamber," he said with a smile.

"I do! How do people wash themselves here, my lord?"

"I have arranged for you to have a wooden tub, and when you wish to bathe, you have but to set our men-at-arms to hauling the water," he told her. "They will bring it from the kitchens, where it is heated."

"How primitive," Belle said, wrinkling her nose. "Does even the king bathe like this, my lord?"

"I'm afraid so. He has an enormous oaken tub, bound with straps of iron. It is carried with his luggage when he travels from castle to castle," Rolf explained to her.

Isabelle shook her head. "A proper bathing chamber is better," she said. "The king sent me a basket of strawberries last night. I must admit that they were very welcome."

"He has not come here himself, has he?" Rolf asked her.

"Of course not," Isabelle said, and then asked, "Do you think he would dare? Ahhh, that is why you stationed our men-at-arms outside my door, Rolf. Thank you. I do not think I am ready yet to cope with King Henry. Damn! Where is Hugh?"

"I will do what I can to protect you, Belle, but you understand I cannot offend the king or directly oppose him," Rolf said.

"I know," Belle replied. "I will oppose him, however. I will not willingly give myself to such a lecher. He should be ashamed of himself, using his power and position to coerce a woman into his bed!"

Rolf said nothing further about the matter. Henry would seduce his stepdaughter with charm, and would indeed use his position and power to compel her to yield herself to him. Arguing with Belle would serve absolutely no useful purpose. She would soon learn that a king such as Henry Beauclerc could not be gainsaid. If he decided that he wanted Isabelle of Langston for his latest plaything, he would have her.

Agneatha arrived with the wooden tub, followed by a line of men-at-arms delivering the promised hot water. Rolf bid his stepdaughter farewell and departed. When the men had all gone, Agneatha locked the chamber door from the inside and helped Belle to disrobe. Belle sank down gratefully into the water, a slow smile lighting her features.

"Ohhh, that feels so good, Agneatha. Do we have any soap?"

The serving woman nodded. "Aye!" Then she produced a little cake scented with lavender. "Remember your wedding night, my lady, when your mother perfumed the bathwater, and you made such a fuss?"

Isabelle laughed as she lathered the soap between her hands and began to wash herself. "Aye, I remember! I've changed since then, haven't I? Besides," she excused herself, "my husband likes the scent."

"Ohh, my lady, do you think we'll ever see Lord Hugh again?"

"He's coming home, Agneatha, I am certain of it. He must!" Isabelle said in a strong voice. "Isn't it just like a man to run off and forget the time? They never grow up, do they?"

"No, my lady," Agneatha agreed, "they surely don't."

When Belle had finished her bath and washed her hair, she was dried and put into a fresh chemise. She wrung the excess water from her long hair, toweling it vigorously. It was foolish to dress, as the seamstress would be here this day, and besides, she didn't intend to leave this chamber until she could be seen in decent clothing. The men-at-arms removed the tub, first dumping the bathwater out the window onto the earth below. They had no sooner done so when Mistress Mary, the seamstress, arrived to take Isabelle's measurements. She was an apple-cheeked woman with a merry smile and an easy manner.

"How do you do, madame," she said, curtseying. "I have come from Master John, the draper. I understand you will need a small wardrobe for your stay at court. I have been told the lady Mavis of Farnley recommended me. A lady of great taste and style, she is."

"Merci bien, Mistress Mary," said Mavis as she breezed into the chamber. "Good morrow, Isabelle of Langston. I hope you don't mind, but I thought you would like my help."

"Oh, yes!" Belle said, delighted to see her new friend. "I so admired the garments you were wearing yesterday."

"Well, let's get started, Mistress Mary," Mavis said. "You brought the fabrics? Of course you did!"

Mistress Mary smiled at Mavis's enthusiasm, and nodded to her little assistant. "The mauve silk first." She turned to Belle. "This is to be for a skirt?"

"Aye," Belle said.

Mistress Mary set to work. She measured, she cut, she stitched. First a mauve-colored skirt, and then the buttercup-yellow skirt. Next came the tunic dresses that would be worn over the skirts: the gorgeous rich violet damask that was woven through with gold threads, and the delicate lavender with its intricately woven pattern. Mavis suggested that the lavender tunic be trimmed in silver passemente, and the seamstress nodded her approval. Copper passemente was used to trim the tawny orange brocade tunic.

"That color is so good with your wonderful hair," Mavis said. "I didn't realize what glorious hair you had yesterday, as it was hidden under that modest little veil you were wearing. Mistress Mary, does Master John have a sheer material shot through with copper, and perhaps one with gold, and one with silver, that might make pretty veils for the lady Isabelle?" She turned to Belle. "Did you bring a chaplet with you, or perhaps a circlet or two?"

Belle shook her head in the negative.

Mavis looked again to Mistress Mary. "Who would you recommend?" she asked the seamstress. "It can't cost a fortune, either."

"Jacob the Goldsmith," Mistress Mary said without hesitation. "He's the most scrupulously honest man I've ever known. You can always be completely honest with him, and not have to worry that he'll gossip about your business to any other member of the court. Indeed I suspect he is the keeper of some great secrets. The king has been known to give Jacob his trade." She smiled up at Isabelle from her position on her knees, where she was pinning the orange tunic. "He'll find you a pretty piece for your veils that you need not be ashamed to wear before the high and mighty, but you'll not be forced to mortgage your estate to pay for it." She chuckled. "There, that one is done. Now, let us cut the last."

"I suppose Rolf would purchase me a chaplet if I asked him," Isabelle said thoughtfully. "I have a pretty one at home, but I never thought I should need it on this trip. Indeed, I thought I should be on my way home by this time. Ohh, that is not the material I chose for the last tunic, Mistress Mary, but my, it is beautiful."

"I switched it," Mavis said. "I went back early this morning because I kept thinking how dull that plain cream-colored brocade was, Belle. This fabric is far more striking, don't you think so?"

Isabelle looked at the creamy brocatelle, a brocadelike fabric with a slightly raised pattern. It had tiny gold-thread stars woven in it. "It is lovely," she admitted, but her practical soul was bewailing the cost of such fine fabrics that would only be worn during her short stay at court. Still, when they returned to Langston, perhaps she could have some of her new garments altered to fit her mother. Then they would both have beautiful gowns to wear on special occasions.

"Gold passemente on this one?" she asked Mavis.

"Excellent!" Mavis enthused. "The gold stars are charming, but not quite enough for such a pristine color. The trim is just right!"

"Everything will be lined in matching sarcenet," Mistress Mary said.

The fitting done, the garments cut, Mistress Mary gathered up everything, folding it neatly, and placed it in a basket which she then handed to her assistant.

"How soon will you have something for the lady Isabelle?" Mavis demanded. "She will not show herself, and is confined to her chamber, until she has proper clothing. There are so many people I want to introduce her to, and her time at court is limited. It should not be spent in here."

"I can have one gown for you tomorrow," the seamstress said, "the rest, the day after." Then she curtsied to Isabelle and Mavis, saying to Belle, "Thank you for your custom, my lady."

"How is she to be paid?" Isabelle wondered when Mistress Mary had finally departed. "I have no money."

"Rolf will pay her," Mavis said. "You don't need to carry coins with you, Isabelle. That is a man's task." Then she changed the subject. "Do you play chess?" she asked.

"Yes," Belle laughed, "but not in my chemise. Let me dress."

Mavis nodded, and then said, "It's the dinner hour. I must go, but I shall return this evening and bring a board with me."

In the Great Hall, Mavis sought out Rolf and told him, "Belle and I have spent most of the day with Mistress Mary. I think you will be pleased by her transformation. She is to have a gown by tomorrow. Jacob the Goldsmith will come to show her chaplets, so be certain to pay him, too, my lord."

Rolf chuckled. "You are teaching my stepdaughter bad habits, Mavis, my sweet. She has always been a simple country girl."

"And so I think she would prefer to stay," Mavis responded. "I could see her thoughtfully assessing every coin she suspected was being expended on her finery; which she thought might be better spent elsewhere. She must certainly be an excellent chatelaine for Langston. When I have eaten, I will take the pieces and board, and go to play chess with her. I see you have stationed your own men outside of her chamber. 'Tis very wise, although they could certainly not prevent our friend from entering a room in his own house. Still, it is good."

"Isabelle understands her position, although she is certainly not happy about it," Rolf replied.

"Perhaps out of sight will be out of mind," Mavis answered him. "There are many pretty women here at court to take his fancy."

In their chamber, Isabelle and Agneatha dined on capon, beef, braised lettuces, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. The king's page appeared with a carafe of the king's own wine. It was rich and fruity, with a ruby color. Isabelle thanked young Henry Beauchamp.

"The king wonders if he might visit you in your chamber, madame," the boy said to her.

"Gracious!" Belle pretended to be astounded. "I do not think it would be proper, young sir, and besides, my new court gowns have yet to be made. I could not receive the king in these old garments. Please tell the king that tomorrow I shall have a gown, and shall tender my thanks for his kindnesses then. And you might ask him if his messenger to Duke Robert has yet departed for Normandy to ask for word of my husband."

The boy bowed and left her.

When Mavis returned with the chess pieces and the board, Isabelle told her of Henry Beauchamp's message from the king.

"He's certainly determined, isn't he?" Mavis said. "Well, Rolf has told me you know you cannot refuse him."

"Why not?" Belle asked, her eyes flashing green fire. "Why can I not refuse the king's lecherous attentions? Why must I acquiesce meekly with a 'Yes, my liege,' and spread my legs for the royal member?"

Mavis of Farnley was astounded. "I ... I don't know," she said. "Because he is the king, I suppose. Women just don't refuse a king."

"Why don't they?" Belle demanded. "A king is just a man. A powerful man, I will grant you, but a man nonetheless. Why should such a man be allowed to compromise the chastity of a respectable woman? You would think a good Christian king would want to protect such a woman, not menace her with his masculinity and his jurisdiction over her as her liege lord. It is wrong, and I shall not allow myself to be bullied!"

Mavis did not think that all of Isabelle of Langston's determination would protect her from the king, if the king's lust gained the upper hand. Still, she could see that Isabelle was not a woman to be argued with. It would do her no good to appeal to poor Rolf de Briard. If he learned of his stepdaughter's attitude when he thought her resigned to whatever happened, it would likely send him into a fit. He already felt guilty for having brought the girl to court.

"You will do what you think is best, of course," Mavis said, "keeping in mind Hugh's position, the well-being of your son, and of course, the fate of Langston." Then she laughed. "I think, perhaps, that Henry Beauclerc will meet his match in you, Belle. I do not believe that any woman has ever meekly said, 'No, my liege, and go away!' It should be quite a surprise to him, but beware your adamant refusal does not intrigue him even more than your fresh country charms," Mavis warned.

PART III.

BRITTANY.