Elise entered the solar and dismissed the servant who had accompanied her. As her eyes adjusted to the light flooding into the room, she sought out her younger sister and related the unfolding events. “Best behave, Marie,” she grinned. “Abbot Juhel arrives this afternoon.”
Marie crinkled her nose.
Elise felt the same. Juhel de Ponthieu, their kinsman, had been in and out of their lives often, and most constantly during their years at Abbey Clarion. Elise rushed to change the subject, to bury her dark, inexplicable dread of the abbey.
“I must leave in a month. Roland is back from Rome. He and Brian will deliver me to my husband.”
Marie’s eyes widened. “Roland is here? Will he stay for the entire month?” She put a hand to her breast and grabbed Elise’s wrist, nearly swooning.
“Yes,” Elise smiled. “He will stay until I am ready to leave.”
“We haven’t seen him since . . .”
Elise remembered that day: fire, smoke, mutilated bodies, Roland, at fourteen, their last defender—disarmed, wounded, the point of a sword at his throat.
“A year ago!” Marie said. “He came just after he inherited his father’s title, before going to Rome.”
“Yes! Now, I remember.” Elise and Marie had descended the stairs together and entered the great room to welcome Roland and his cousin Tristan de Vannes, vicomte de Brittany. The girls spotted Roland immediately. Despite his height, they would have recognized his dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes anywhere.
It took him a moment to notice them, but when he did, he started, for he had not seen them since the attack at Mortemer, when she was eight and Marie was six. His gaze acknowledged Elise warmly but riveted to Marie, who then, at seventeen, had become a radiant and poised woman. Marie herself seemed stunned into momentary inaction.
They greeted each other formally, their camaraderie of old lost temporarily. But Marie, rising to the occasion, looked up at Roland’s immense height and said, “It is true, what they say.”
“Is what true?” he asked.
“That the Bretons are short.”
“Short-tempered, my lady,” he responded. “I see the abbey did nothing to curb your sharp tongue!”
“The better to flay you with,” she crooned, sweetly.
And from that moment until he left the next afternoon, they taunted each other mercilessly.
Now, Marie suddenly sobered. “We’ve never been apart before.”
“We always knew this day would come.” Elise squeezed Marie’s hand, offering a smile to disguise her own disquiet. Without Elise as foil, Marie would face Arques’ perversity alone. Eustace might marry her off to one of the Flemings. Or worse.
Hortense embraced the girls, her arms barely enfolding them. “Confine your fears, for there are many decisions to make.”
Marie burst into a wicked chuckle, grabbed Elise’s hands, and swung her around. “You’re getting married, and soon you will have children and . . .” Marie flung herself onto a nearby bench. “You must write and tell me . . . everything!”
“Everything?” Elise asked, puzzled.
“Yes, you know.” Marie raised her eyebrows. “Everything. I—”
“Now, Marie,” Hortense interrupted.
“—I want to know how to capture Roland,” Marie beamed at Elise and Hortense.
“Marie! It’s sinful to speak so,” Hortense said.
“I speak the truth! I want to know how to win my knight and keep him. You must do this one thing for me, Elise,” she said, with a stubborn flip of her head. “Unless you want me to find out on my own.”
“Absolutely not!” Elise said.
Hortense shook her head and snapped her skirts as if preparing to charge a gaggle of geese threatening to peck her legs. “I have known you since you were a wee babe. I do not know how you remained at Abbey Clarion lo these many years and came out untouched, with your irreverence, stubbornness, and brazen tongue intact!”
The tone of Hortense’s voice was an ancient command Marie heeded immediately. She lowered her head, crinkled her brow in contrition. She looked sideways at Hortense. “I speak the words before I know they are mine. The nuns did not change me because Elise kept them from beating me,” she said softly, glancing at Elise. “She snuck food into my cell when I was forbidden to eat. She stopped the lash before it hit my skin and instead was whipped for defiance. And sometimes she kicked me beneath the dining tables to silence my blasphemous giggles and pinched me awake when we knelt long in prayers.”
Elise shook her head. “Marie, you embellish. The only time I took your beating was when we both disobeyed Sister Exencia. Remember?”
“Yes,” Marie laughed but sobered at Hortense’s glare.
“We refused to let her bathe Marie,” Elise explained. To Marie, she continued, “That was the time she wanted to share your bed.”
Hortense crossed herself and shook her head as her bluster waned.
“I confess, I am stubborn,” Marie said. “But, is it sinful to choose my own husband?”
“No,” Elise said. “But the choice is not yours. It’s Eustace’s.”
“Unless,” Marie said, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, “unless Roland asks for me himself. Perhaps I should—”
An embroidered pillow sailed across the room into Marie’s face, and the girls broke into laughter.
“Agh, you two would have perplexed the Virgin Mother!” Hortense exploded with a huff. She picked up her sewing and sat on a bench where she jabbed her needle into the cloth. “I will instruct the servants about the betrothal feast. Decide your attire for the occasion.”
Marie and Elise exchanged glances, for Hortense would remain cross until they changed her mood.
“I am to marry Alaric of Ewyas, son of Simeon d’Évreux,” Elise said.
Hortense remained silent.
“Do you know his family?” Elise asked.
Hortense pinched the cloth with her needle. “Yes.”
“Do you know them . . . well?” Elise encouraged.
Hortense took another stitch and scowled at the girls. “The family, as you know, are cousins to Duke William.”
“Is that all?” Marie asked.
Hortense lifted her needle, tugging the thread up through the cloth. Elise and Marie moved restlessly about the room. “Instead of entering the Church as was expected, Simeon d’Évreux went to Englelond. That’s all I know.” She paused, her hand in mid-stitch. “I met him once when I was young.” She squinted into the sunlight streaming through the windows as if lost in a long-ago memory. “He was . . . beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” Marie looked at Elise, surprised Hortense would ever notice such a thing.
“Yes,” Hortense said, taking another stitch. “There are men who are easy to look upon, and Simeon was one.”
“And did you look upon him long?” Marie asked wickedly.
Hortense, with a blush rising on her cheeks, glared angrily at Marie and hissed, “May you be blessed with a daughter such as you.” Still miffed, she said to Elise, “If your husband resembles his father, he will please your eyes.”
“Oh,” Marie said, pursing her lips. “Handsome means he will be easy to kiss, and if he is easy to kiss, he will be easy—
“Marie,” Hortense warned.
“— to bed! Elise, you will like kissing him. I just know it.”
“Stop,” Elise said, trying not to laugh. “This is an alliance, nothing more. I cannot think of such things.”
“Well, you should give those things some thought!” Marie said insistently. “Methinks it would be an important consideration when waking up each morning and facing the day. Or, mayhap when going to bed and facing the . . . the knight!” With that, she burst into uncontrollable laughter, and so did Elise.
Hortense pressed her lips together, trying to hide her own smile, and sighed. “Handsomeness is less important than wisdom.”
“Um,” Marie said, still chuckling. “If your saints bless you, Elise, he will not beat you.”
“Do not be foolish! He will beat you,” Hortense said. “Pray he will not beat you often.”
“I fear he will be as fierce in our chamber as he is in warfare. They say he is ruthless and changes into a wolf during battle.”
“Do not fret, Elise,” Hortense said. “It is proper to fear him. Rumors are important weapons in war, and although some truth may exist for this gossip, we do not know the man.” Hortense’s hands stitched rhythmically as she spoke. “You must go to him without expectations, and in the discovery, you will have to win his loyalty and respect. He could be just as surprised as you are about this betrothal and therefore, might be distant at first.”
“He was angry,” Elise said. “His mark tore the parchment.”
Hortense appraised Elise. “Although most of your siblings died of the pox, God blessed you both with few scars.”
Elise ran her fingers over the small scars at her left temple. She could only vaguely remember the chills, fevers, the pustules. But she clearly remembered the burials in an unending procession, her brothers and sisters, and her mother, who lashed a strand of leather thongs tied with beads across her naked back as punishment—for she had lost nearly all her children, and worse, because she had been spared.
“Your visage and physique will please him,” Hortense said, “for a while. But you must learn quickly how to serve him best. In a few years, you and he might find solace in each other.”
“Not so,” Marie said. “He will cherish you, Elise. He will be enthralled. You’ll see, he will not be able to resist you.”
Hortense grunted. “Along with your estates, you give him the knowledge and ability to administer them. As chatelaine, you assist his seneschal, run his households, direct his servants, and see to his comforts. You will care for the villagers, represent him in his absences, even defend his holdings if you must. You will give him loyalty, virtue, and progeny. He, in turn, will protect you and give you a place of honor in his home. And since he is close to William, you will be close to the king as well. You must take care and be alert to all manner of intrigue.”
“Speaking of intrigue, why did Eustace pursue this marriage?” Elise asked.
Hortense shook her head. “Eustace does nothing without purpose. He—” Hortense stopped. “No need to say more. My conjectures would be tainted by loathing.”
“You cannot prejudice us,” Elise said. “Eustace wears his ambition like a royal mantle. If you suspect his motives, you must tell me. Knowing his intrigues will help me.”
Hortense shook her head. “Be wise, Elise. Never underestimate him.”
“As did your husband?” Marie asked softly.
“It is time to plan for the festivities,” Hortense said, setting her sewing aside.
“Marie’s question,” Elise said, chiding her sister, “though unwarranted by its rudeness, begs an answer. Eustace is dangerous. But surely, ignorance is more dangerous. In the days and weeks ahead, there may be no other time to prepare us for what may come.”
Hortense studied both girls. Eustace would not have given so rich a bride and such important lands to someone who could not advance his ambitions or give him a port, a dukedom, a kingdom.
“I have known Eustace nearly all my life.” Hortense paused, remembering when at nine she was sent to live with her first cousins, when her marriage three years later saved her from Eustace’s attention. “I know him better than most. Be forewarned, not frightened. Knowing him may help you. Eustace will stop at nothing to attain his ends. He uses deceit and trickery. Through dense machinations, he makes others do his bidding. He will betray his liege lord if profitable to himself. He will do anything to ruin his opponents, even destroy a king in the process. He demands absolute loyalty, yet he can and will turn on his most loyal men. My husband, a Saxon, a lord in liege to Eustace, was one of Eustace’s most loyal men, yet Eustace destroyed him. I tell you what little I know, so you may pause when dealing with him.”
She began with Edward’s unexpected rise to the English throne. “His mother, Englelond’s Queen Emma of Normandie, had sent Edward and his siblings to Rouen for protection. They lived under the care of their uncle the duke for decades.
“When Eustace entered his eighteenth winter, his royal ambitions became clear. He married Godgifu, daughter of King Æthelred of the English, Edward’s sister, a woman over thirty, newly widowed with two well-placed sons. One held the Vexin.” Hortense looked pointedly at Elise. “Once Edward ascended the throne, Eustace, the king’s brother-in-marriage, became exceedingly influential.
“Because King Edward had no heir, powerful families vied for the throne. Everyone knew a child of Eustace and Godgifu could inherit the throne. Only one daughter survived the marriage, and Eustace married her off when she was but twelve winters. Within a year, she had birthed a son.
“Shortly after his grandson’s birth, Eustace and my husband traveled to London to ask King Edward to name the boy the king’s heir.”
“Heir to Englelond?” Elise asked.
Hortense explained the boy’s pedigree: Edward’s nephew, King Æthelred’s great-grandson, a child in the direct line of the ancient heirs to the throne. “Edward favored the boy. The queen favored her brother, a Godwin. The king wavered. And that, according to my husband, is when Eustace set out to destroy the Godwins.”
She shook her head and related what her husband had told her: “On their way back to Boulogne, Eustace and his men stopped in Dover, a Godwin stronghold. There, they provoked the villagers and killed a few men. Returning to London, Eustace claimed the villagers had attacked him and demanded the Godwins punish the village for disrespecting the king’s own brother-in-marriage.
“The Godwins refused to punish villagers defending themselves against Eustace’s aggression. The king recoiled at Godwin’s insolence. Goaded by Eustace, he recalled Godwin’s contempt when he haughtily denied murdering Edward’s younger brother. Furious, Edward dispossessed and banished the entire family, including his queen.
“In the end,” Hortense said, “the Godwins returned. They forced the king to outlaw all the French-speaking officials he had taken with him. Edward, humiliated and weakened by this event, blamed Eustace. Afterward, isolated without his Norman advisors, Edward became a virtual prisoner of Harold Godwinson, the strongest of Godwin’s sons.”
“And Eustace?” Marie asked.
“He returned to Boulogne.”
“Where is the boy?” Elise asked.
“With our Maker,” Hortense said, crossing herself. “It is said he died of the same pestilence that claimed most of your family.”
“How, why did Eustace destroy you and your husband?” Marie asked.
“A few years after the Godwin’s prevailed, Eustace sent my husband back across the Narrow Sea, on a secret mission to a monastery. After the Dover incident, it was dangerous for French-speaking travelers, especially someone from Boulogne to enter the kingdom. But my husband intended to speak only Saxon, told me not to fret, for when Eustace ruled, we would be well rewarded.”
“Ruled what?” Elise asked.
“I never learned what he meant. Perhaps he failed. In my husband’s absence, Eustace charged him with high crimes. When he landed in Boulogne, he was set upon and killed for bounty. Eustace seized all our lands and goods. Only your mother’s pleas saved me from destitution.”
“Eustace must regret the loss of his grandson,” Elise said, “more now after William’s venture.”
“Yes. Had the boy survived, he could have ascended the throne, with Eustace as regent.”
“William would have fought him,” Elise said.
“Eustace would have checked him.” Hortense picked up her sewing and resumed her work. “Your uncle has powerful allies. Through his second marriage, he is tied to the Dukes of Lorraine and to Emperor Henry. He vows that his sons will be kings. It is no jest that some people call him the Kingmaker. Even William did not pursue his English venture without Eustace’s support.”
“Thierry de Châlons negotiates for King Philip,” Elise watched Hortense’s hands stop in mid stitch before continuing.
“Your loyalties must be clear, Elise,” Hortense said. “With this marriage, you will become a child of your new land. Eustace, or others, might try to use you or your husband to cripple William—or Philip. Be ever vigilant.”
“And if Philip and William went to war?” Elise asked. “Am I to remain silent if my husband fights against the Franks, against my cousin Philip, even against Roland?”
Hortense put her sewing down and looked at Elise. “Your allegiance is to your husband. He is William’s man. We can only hope such wars will not happen. Meanwhile, you will rise or fall with your husband. If he allows your council, you can advise him, perhaps steer him from manipulations. If he does not, you must honor his wishes, and if possible, lessen the damage of his errors.”
“I will miss your counsel and wisdom, Hortense,” Elise whispered.
“No need,” Marie said. “She’s going with you, aren’t you, Hortense?”
“Marie!” Elise said. “Who would protect you from Arques and Eustace?”
“I will ask Thierry for Roland.”
“You will do no such thing,” Elise said.
“Then,” Marie said with conviction, “I will invite Alys to visit. And Lesceline, and Judith, and . . . Anne. If Roland won’t have me, I will live with Alys.”
“What devilish motives you have,” Elise laughed. “Tristan will never leave if Lesceline is here.”
Marie smiled. “I know.”
“Hortense?” Elise asked.
“We’ve talked it over, the two of us,” Marie burst out. Hortense took another stitch without looking up. “Hortense knows about Saxons from her husband. She speaks their language and knows their ways. Besides, the journey will be treacherous but easier with someone you trust. Your husband will welcome Hortense, who will help you settle in. And I will keep the servants you do not take with you.” Marie finished breathlessly.
Elise saw red blotches rising on Hortense’s cheeks. “Marie! You planned this without talking to Hortense.”
Marie pressed her lips together.
“It is the right decision,” Hortense said. “One I had reached myself.”
“But, what will happen to Marie?”
“Marie’s plan is sound. If she marries Roland, she will be safe. If not, Thierry will find her another husband or a nunnery. Besides, we have a month to consider the details. Marie cannot stay here without you, and her friends will shield her for a while. You cannot go without me. The matter is settled. Now, what to wear for the betrothal ceremony?”
Seeing Hortense’s determined glare, Elise withheld her opposition. Hortense’s guidance would help her face a new life. And if Eustace planned to use her and this marriage for villainous purposes, Hortense would help her thwart him.