Ansel trotted ahead of her along the corridor, a horse made of sticks between his legs. He was only a boy, flush with innocence, but before she knew it he would be astride a real horse, training in the arts of war, just like her eldest sons. Isabel knew she would have to cherish these years with her youngest while she could.
Seeing him on that wooden charger conjured a familiar memory of the two eldest boys she had raised to manhood. Of how proud she had been to see them become so gallant, like their father. Of how she had lost them.
When she heard the droning tones of the monk from a chamber up ahead it came as welcome relief from the bitterness of her thoughts. Isabel stopped outside the open door, listening to him as he taught the rudiments of Latin to her youngest daughters. It had been her specific wish that all her children were educated in the trivium, a wish her husband had only reluctantly agreed to.
‘Salve pueri et puellae, children,’ the monk said in his monotone. ‘Today, we will be learning about the declension of nouns. Nouns are the building blocks of language, and by learning their different forms we are able to express different meanings.’
Isabel peered through the opening. The four girls sat behind their tables, quill, ink and vellum in front of each. It had not been cheap to provide such materials for the purposes of study, but Isabel was sure it would be worth the cost. She was impressed that her daughters were showing particular attention, despite the monk’s tedious approach. Well… almost all her daughters. As usual, Isabeau, Sybil and Joan sat upright and attentive, but the youngest, Eva, looked as though she would rather have been anywhere else.
‘Let us begin with the first declension,’ the monk continued, ‘which includes feminine nouns like puella, meaning girl. The nominative form is puella, but when we wish to indicate possession, we use the genitive form, puellae. Now, who can give me an example of a sentence using the genitive form?’
Sybil was the first to raise her hand. The monk smiled, gesturing for her to answer, but before she could, little Eva teased Sybil’s nose with the feather of her quill. Sybil slapped it away, and Eva giggled at her own mischief.
‘Never mind,’ the monk said, unsure of how to proceed in the face of such unruly behaviour. ‘Let… let us move on to the second declension, which includes masculine nouns like puer, meaning boy. Can anyone tell me a sentence using the genitive form of puer?’
This time it was Joan’s turn to raise a hand. Once more the monk smiled and gestured for her to continue. Before she could, Eva flicked the nib of her quill, sending black ink spattering onto Joan’s kirtle.
Isabel moved away from the door as the flames were stoked. Joan yelped in fury, and Eva giggled louder than ever. The monk did his best to interject, as chairs were scraped along the floor and anger erupted, but his doleful demands for calm were ignored. Isabel should have interjected, but Eva had always had a wilful spirit. Perhaps one day it would be broken by the duties of a lady of her station, but for now, Isabel would allow her what freedom she could.
As she turned to escape along the corridor, Ansel was blocking her path. He looked up with those bright brown eyes Isabel found so difficult to refuse, his wooden horse now abandoned.
‘Can I go and watch them sparring?’ he asked hopefully.
No, it would not be long before he was riding and fighting, just like his brothers. As much as Isabel wanted to keep him a boy forever, she knew it was impossible.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Run along.’
He flashed a smile full of missing teeth, before racing past her and down the stairs to the courtyard. Isabel left the sound of her daughters’ bickering behind and headed toward the kitchen.
A handmaid called Alis passed her in the corridor, stopping to curtsey. Isabel nodded her acknowledgement, taking some solace that she was still shown deference within her own castle, despite how far the Marshals had fallen from the king’s grace in recent years. When she reached the kitchens she waited silently at the archway, watching proceedings with a sense of pride. Nothing else might be going right for her family, but at least the beating heart of this castle still thrived.
Mabil oversaw the place with an iron hand. The woman had been a good find – stern but fair, skilled at her craft, organised. But Isabel had always prided herself on being a good judge of character. As she took in the bustle of the kitchen, her eye fell on a boy sitting at a table close to the window. A stranger in their midst.
He was troughing from a wooden bowl as though he hadn’t eaten for days. Despite the way he shovelled broth and bread in his mouth, he still held himself with an element of dignity. A handsome boy, for sure, but he was scruffy, his dark hair unkempt, his rangy legs swinging from the stool he sat on.
‘My lady.’
Mabil had spotted her at the arch to the kitchen and curtsied. The rest of the scullions, seeing Isabel was present, stopped what they were doing and did likewise.
‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ Isabel said, before gesturing for Mabil to come closer.
‘All is well, my lady,’ Mabil said. ‘Stores are full for now, though I’ll need more salt before long.’
Isabel gestured to the boy by the window, who hadn’t seemed to notice that the lady of the house was present. ‘Who is that? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.’
‘Oh, him. Boy’s name is Estienne. Just arrived this morning. Your lord husband’s new squire, according to Goffrey.’
It was then the boy looked over. Still he offered no deference – just regarded her with eyes that looked so lost, and forced a sad smile onto his face.
Before Mabil could chide him for his lack of decorum, Isabel said, ‘Very well. I see you have everything in hand as usual. Carry on.’
Another curtsey from Mabil before Isabel left, leaving the heat of the kitchen behind and making her way up to her chambers. She swung open the door on its well-oiled hinge and saw him waiting there. William was standing by the window, framed in golden light as he read from a scrap of parchment. Still tall and strong despite his years. Still handsome enough to take her breath away, as he had the first time she ever saw him.
Isabel had been his reward for loyal service to King Henry. He was a knight of no name, a second son who had fought his way up the bloody ladder to become a powerful lord in his own right. She was daughter to Earl Strongbow of Striguil and heiress to the House of Clare. It was a union she had not relished – naturally she had been terrified when she learned of her betrothal to an old man in his forties, but as soon as she saw him, tall and bold, that face so noble and kind, she knew that he should not be measured by his age. Now, even after she had borne him ten children, even though he fast approached his seventieth year, the sight of him always made her heart skip.
‘Husband,’ she said, as he continued to pore over that letter.
‘Isabel,’ he replied, still reading. There was a furrow to his brow, as though what he read was troubling.
‘A message from the king?’ she asked, hope and fear gnawing at her all at once.
William folded the parchment and finally looked at her. ‘No. It’s nothing.’
Clearly it was much more than nothing, but Isabel had long ago learned not to press her husband where politics was concerned. He bore a heavy burden, now more than ever, and it was not her place to add to his woes.
‘We have a new squire. He seems a little skinny to be taken on as your shield bearer.’
‘We do. And he is. But his uncle was one of King Richard’s retainers. It was his dying wish that the boy come here and learn the code. Who am I to refuse a dying man’s request?’
‘I would expect nothing less from you, my love. But it is not your duty to take care of every orphan who comes to our gates. Especially now—’
William sighed, a rare show of discontent. ‘What would you have me do, Isabel? Turn the boy out into the wilds?’
He moved to the bureau by the window, opening a drawer and placing the letter within. She watched as he locked that drawer with a key on its chain, then hung it around his neck. A key for which there was no copy. A secret hidden from her? As much as she hated the notion, Isabel would never make issue of it.
‘No, I would never expect you to abandon a child to his fate, William. But do not forget we are cast down from the king’s favour because of your generosity. Remember what we have already lost because—’
He glared at her, quelling his anger, and she knew she had pushed him too far.
‘I have not forgotten what we have lost, Isabel. And why.’
It did not need repeating. That deed of only a few years before, when the Lord of Briouze had fallen from the favour of the tyrant King John, and been forced to flee his estates. William had made the mistake of offering Briouze sanctuary within these very walls. Only when the king had landed on the shores of Hibernia with an army at his back had William been forced to compel his guest to leave.
Briouze had fled, but his wife and son had been forced to plead for the king’s mercy. John had been deaf to it, imprisoning them both until they had starved. If rumour were true their rotting corpses had been found entwined, the Lady of Briouze having consumed part of her son’s cheek.
It was an awful fate, but the king’s wrath had not been quelled by those horrors he inflicted. To secure the Marshal’s continued fealty, and ensure no further dissent, he had taken their eldest sons as hostages. Isabel had not seen Guillaume or Richard for almost three years and didn’t know if she ever would again.
‘I will get them back, Isabel,’ William said, voice softening. ‘I will do nothing more to provoke the king, I promise you.’
Could he sense her pain? Her loss? There was little doubt he shared it.
‘I know,’ she replied, forcing a smile. ‘I am just being overly cautious. What trouble could one orphan boy bring us? He is just another child in our care.’
‘He is,’ William said, turning to the window and looking down on the courtyard below. ‘Just one more child.’
Isabel saw that troubled look cast its shadow over his brow once more. What was he not telling her?
Despite the reassurance of his words, she could only hope that his kindness of spirit toward one orphan would not curse them once more.