The Sixth Surrender

Approached from the right bank of the Seine by the Grand-Pont, the palace of the Capetian kings rose at the west end of Île de la Cité, a maze of corridors and halls behind stone walls, where chilly air hovered under the barreled vaulting despite the blazing braziers and the odd fireplace. At the east end of the isle, joined to the left bank by the Petit-Pont, resided the Lord-Bishop of Paris, busily overseeing the construction of the new church of Our Lady. The Lord-King of Paris had graciously vacated his capital and retired to Poissy. There, Philip awaited the birth of his second child by Agnès de Méran.

The palace and Paris might have been placed by Philip at the disposal of the King of England, but only days into his visit the Parisians decided that John Plantagenet and his pack had overstayed their welcome. Fights between the swaggering visitors and the populace broke out daily, fueled by July’s heat, tuns of wine, and raw tempers. Several brawlers on each side were badly injured and the burghers brought their complaints to John. He ignored them. The complaints had no effect on John’s retainers, either, occupied as they were with other matters.

At that moment, some of them were casting curious glances in Juliana’s direction. She wavered between returning a look of haughty hostility and turning on her heel and running away. Earlier, Lasalle had gathered her, and at her insistence Mistress Hermine as well, from a small, well-fortified house called the Three Dwarfs, nested among the houses of wealthy wine merchants, a stone’s throw from the Church of Saint Gervais. After that, Lasalle disappeared. She had not seen him until he brought her to this occasion.

“I think we should leave.” Juliana handed Hermine her cup. Kadolt had drawn Lasalle away, whispering something into his ear. Lasalle’s decision to bring Kadolt to the duke’s reconciliation with Philip struck her as singularly odd, especially since a perplexed Vaudreuil had been left at Rivefort. Juliana had compounded his bewilderment by asking him to look after Mathea and Paulette since there was not a single man of Lasalle’s she thought she could trust with her wards.

“You cannot leave, dear; the festivities are about to begin.” The ravishing young woman standing there needed no introduction, but she said, nevertheless, “I doubt you will remember me. I am—”

Juliana flinched at the unanticipated gesture. Lasalle’s matchless mistress had something of his ability to meld insult and compliment. From the whispers and titters about them, the company was enjoying the sight of the Countess de Valence conversing, excruciatingly publicly, with the wife of her lover. Juliana had no doubt how she fared in that gossip.

Against the dictates of propriety and fashion, Anne de Valence’s hair spilled loose in a shimmering fall over her gown of graine. With reluctant fascination, Juliana noted the source of its gleam came from specks of powdered gold. A simple black silk cord circled the lady’s brow, traces of antimony touched her eyelids, and pigment tinged her lips, swollen as if from a lover’s kisses. Her complexion, no doubt like the rest of her, was as translucent as alabaster, and her every move liberated the scent of lilies. The countess returned a smile of those who were addressed by their inferiors. “Do you mind if I join you? You see, I, too, am left unescorted. At least you’ve brought your maid. I wish I had thought of that.”

Behind Juliana, Hermine huffed. Swallowing what would have been a lame retort, Juliana reached for Hermine. Those standing closest parted, their voices rising in thrilled whispers. The mistress was routing the wife.

“My lady, don’t let that woman humiliate you,” Hermine hissed while Anne de Valence moved toward them, with dismissive glances for those about her.

Anne did not know why she had behaved like that. The girl looked as if she was surprised not so much by Anne’s treatment of her as by the fact that she had bothered. She lowered her voice. “Will you accept my apology, Lady Juliana? It was prudent of you to bring a chaperone. Prudence, you see, is not a virtue one encounters in this company.”

“Please.” Anne reached out. “Forgive me and come, let us give them a cause for gossip. It was not right of your husband to leave you alone in this place. You must speak to him about it.” The girl’s expression made Anne laugh. “Very well. If you wish, I will speak to him. You see, we do have something in common after all, and to prove it, do call me Anne. Let us take a seat by the fire. In truth, if I could, I’d wear all my woolen gowns and wrap myself in my cloak.”

Despite her misgivings, Juliana let herself be led to the fireplace. The whispers about them grew. Juliana did her best to ignore them. Anne snapped her fingers and the little blackamoor appeared, carrying a tray with a ewer and two cups. Anne poured for Juliana. “We can either pretend the other one of us does not exist or we can become friends. I prefer the latter, if you allow. Alas, I am afraid that merely being seen with me will ruin your reputation.”

“I wager you’ll find several here who would not mind ruining it for you.” Now there was an answer to one’s prayers. Anne held out her hand to a young man heading for them through the crowd. “My lord d’Erlée.”

“We were only now speaking of you. The lady Juliana tells me she preferred you to all the other gallants. Since that leaves me a much depleted field, you’ll have to allow me my escape,” Anne said, and she swept the room with her smile and herself across the hall.

Juliana wished she, too, could disappear, but since she could not, she stammered instead, “I am sorry, I did not mean . . . I meant I did not say . . . I meant the countess—”

John laughed. “Never mind; the lady Anne likes to shock. There, you see”—he inclined his head toward the crowd—“she has fended off several propositions and is contemplating the proposals.”

Juliana could not help but giggle; surely it was the wine. John d’Erlée was in a jovial mood. She was glad to see him, but remained apprehensive about his safety.

“I saw my lord Lasalle ride away with that man of his,” John d’Erlée answered her unspoken question. “I was worried I’d never find you in this crush. I came with my lord Marshal. He brought the lady Isabel with him. You must meet her; she has been asking me about you. Lady Anne is her closest friend, did you know that?”

Juliana listened to the words, but it was John’s smile that kept her attention. She wanted John to kiss her again, kiss her in front of all these strangers. Surely it was the wine. Festive horns sounded and the crowd around them began to file into the adjoining hall. D’Erlée offered Juliana his arm. “If you don’t mind.”