XIV

Juliana reappeared next day, neither studiously avoiding me, nor seeming anxious to pursue familiarity. I worshipped her discreetly. I saw that she was instantly busy, taking the place by the scruff of the neck, as Alice had foretold, and gingering up the servants. It was not the lady’s place to run the household: that was down to the chamberlain, the butler and finally the steward, who answered to the lord. Juliana’s money and her dowry all belonged to Eustace so she had no power beyond the force of her own will. Now (I like to think invigorated by my presence) she set about ordering new rushes for the floor and having the disgusting residue underneath the old ones swept, dug up, and removed. This was her first priority before she turned her attention to the kitchen.

It was clear that I was not going to see much of Juliana that day or the next. It was just as well, since my young pupils kept me busy and indeed exercised.

I tried to avoid the solar, and did not even notice whether the dark-haired Alice was present. At one point when I met Juliana on the stairs I spoke to her but she turned her head away as if she had been thinking deeply and was unaware of me. This threw me into a fit of pique, but I was sensible enough to recover.

It was almost impossible, anyway, for us to be alone together and there were as many spies as there were eyes in that place. It was her game, not mine. I had been favoured for an hour, but now I must wait to see what the next move might be, if there were to be one. I was not the first young man, I told myself, to be a Comtesse’s plaything. Meanwhile there was much for me to learn and do.

Ten days or so after the Comte’s departure, while I was in the kitchen garden with the girls, teaching them the names of herbs – for I had good training in that art from the abbey – an unexpected visitor appeared. Evidently he was a great man since he rode in with a party of his own knights. There is always a frisson when a man turns up unexpectedly with soldiers in tow, especially when the head of the house is absent, so I watched their progress with interest and some concern, motioning to the girls to keep out of sight.

As a couple of squires saw to the horses, tying them up near the stables, the leader of the troop strode across the bailey to the drawbridge, mounted the steps to the hall door and presented himself to the castle steward. He seemed very full of himself, and there was a swagger to his step. I led the girls by a postern door to the back stairway and put them in the charge of their nurse, somewhat to their annoyance. It was best to keep them out of harm’s way. I knew enough about the world to distrust strutting coxcombs with a troop of knights at their beck and call. The next thing that happens is they’re riding off with you as hostage, and laughing while you yell blue murder.

I nipped down from the nursery and watched at a discreet distance as the steward announced the visitor to Juliana – who had come down the great stairs, not too hurriedly, to greet him – as the Lord Amaury de Montfort. Her face tightened slightly when she saw him. He had not wasted much time. There was ill omen about the man. He was dapper and dangerous.

He bowed low to her.

‘Your servant, Comtesse,’ he said. ‘Or may I call you cousin?’

‘Are we cousins?’ she asked.

‘Sooner or later everyone’s a cousin to the de Montforts,’ he said airily and, I could see Juliana thought, rather cheekily.

‘In that case I think Comtesse will be sufficient,’ she said, putting the little bugger in his place. ‘What brings you to Breteuil, sire? It is not often we have the pleasure.’

‘I am sure your lord would not like to hear you say that.’

‘You presume too much, sir.’

‘Is your lord at home?’

‘I fear not.’

‘When will he be back?’

‘Several days. Could be more.’

‘Ah.’

The man had an almost permanent smile on his face, but it was not a smile I liked. It spoke of duplicity. He was a good-looking man but with a very slightly rodent quality. Yes, he was a very handsome rat.

‘Will you and your men take some refreshment? Some wine? Or water from our well, which is good?’

‘That would be kind. My men are thirsty and we have to go north now to speak with Baldwin of Flanders who has thought fit to come into Normandy with his army.’

Wine and good well-water were brought, and the seated knights drank thirstily. Juliana and Amaury continued their conversation. I recalled having once heard my father at Mortagne speak about the de Montfort family, whose head was the Duke of Brittany. They were prolific. ‘Never trust a de Montfort,’ he told me, ‘they spread like mould on an apple-rack.’

‘So what was it you wanted to tell my husband?’ asked Juliana.

I hovered around, trying to look useful, in case she needed support, though she was more than capable of dealing with this fellow. Having seen his men refreshed, he took a cup of wine, swept his eyes round the hall, and at last settled his eyes on me, with scarcely veiled condescension.

‘Who is this?’ he asked, as if I were a species of beetle.

‘My daughters’ tutor, Bertold,’ Juliana told him. ‘He is the son of the Comte de Perche.’

‘Indeed?’

I could see him wanting to say ‘and who is his mother?’ but he was just a little nervous of Juliana’s response, which was sensible of him. She did not tolerate that kind of rudeness.

‘What is Baldwin thinking of?’ demanded Juliana. ‘He is surely wasting his time.’

‘There are some who think your father rules unjustly – not of course that I would be of their party. But you must know it is true. They have spoken to Baldwin of their dissatisfaction.’

‘In that case, why are you going to speak with him?’ she asked.

‘To dissuade him, of course. I hear he is in league with King Louis and means no good to our Duke.’

‘He who sups with the devil needs a long spoon. Have a care, Amaury, or you will be caught up in affairs that do you no good.’

‘Oh, I shall, Comtesse. And now I must be on my way. Perhaps I shall meet your husband as he comes from Rouen…’

‘How did you know he had gone that way? You are well informed, Amaury.’

‘Indeed, I try to be. They say that knowledge is power.’

‘So what was it you wanted to tell my husband?’ asked Juliana.

‘It will keep, dear lady.’

‘It is warm for the time of year. I trust it will not go off.’

He laughed, unamused, and she laughed back at him. I tried a little laugh too, but she shot a look at me that said don’t be so bloody stupid.

He bowed, summoned his men, and they were off towards the marshalsea where their horses were tethered.

‘God, what a shit that man is!’ Juliana exclaimed.

As I was the only person in the vicinity, I assumed she was talking to me. It was the first thing she had said to me since we had lain together in the wardrobe, and I was happy.

I would have followed her upstairs as she went. I was burning to have converse with her, to ask what she was thinking, to know that she had forgiven me for taking advantage of her moment of weakness or whatever it was she was holding against me, but now was not a good time. She did not want to speak. She knew the castle and its people better than I; perhaps something was up. I desperately wanted to talk to her, though, to tell her about the girl with dark eyes who seemed to me to have something of the night about her – though, here again, there were limits as to what I could say. I could hardly tell Juliana that I had dreamt I had been visited by one of her ladies, the very night after I had declared my passion and made love to the mistress. It would have been rude as well as impolitic. After all, I comforted myself, it had only been only a dream; although Saul had sometimes suggested that dreams are the truth and what we consciously think is error.

As I walked up and down in the bailey that evening, brooding on these events, I did not notice a dark figure waiting near the postern gate until I had practically stumbled on his shoe. I saw him then well enough: a man with a pale face, fleshy lips and hard little eyes, only a few years older than myself. It was the sly, whey-faced Chaplain, Crispin de Laval – another Breton – who had said grace before dinner that afternoon.

‘What is on your mind, my son?’ he said. ‘You seem troubled.’

‘Not troubled,’ I told him, ‘just exhausted in my mind. There has been so much to take in for a newcomer.’

‘Yes, indeed. You have previously been in an abbey, I understand.’

‘In an abbey and then at my father’s château at Breteuil.’

I did not want him to think I was fresh out of school.

‘I too was at a monastery as a boy. We must get together and talk about it. Perhaps I can encourage you to join the priesthood yourself. It seems a pity to waste your good learning.’

‘I am not wasting my learning if I am teaching.’

‘Quite so. But anyway, we must meet and talk about the old days. There is much that I miss about them. The camaraderie. The closeness with some of the Brothers. Do you know what I mean?’

He was very close to me now, almost brushing me with his hand, frisking it down my doublet. His weird breath was all over me. I knew exactly what he meant.

‘No, no.’ I said hurriedly, ‘I’ve left all that behind.’

It was the wrong thing to say, and he got quite the wrong idea.

‘Tell me more,’ he cried. ‘What secrets have you left behind that trouble you so much? Come to my study after Matins tomorrow. The Comte is very particular about attendance, and likes to see my Book. My door is always open.’

‘Thank you, Father. So kind.’

‘I feel we are going to be good friends.’

It was an uncomfortable thought.

The word around hall when I asked next morning was that the Comte was not in the least interested in the Chaplain’s Book. The Chaplain, I learned, was famous for having little favourites among the pages who served as his spies. It was said that he reported to the Archbishop of Rouen who reported to the Pope’s legate, Cardinal Cuno (a right little cuno, it was said, always sticking his nose in and causing trouble), who reported to the Pope who reported to God.

The Chaplain’s door was always open but it shut pretty quick when he got you inside. He liked Malvasia wine and blond boys who liked Malvasia wine.