Elise had the distinct impression that she entered a den of lions. Five lions, to be exact. She nodded at the witnesses, silent and poised as if ready to attack.
These men had decided how to distribute her land and wealth. She knew all but the young, strikingly handsome man whose visage astonished her. She stared as Dreux Marchand de Ville was introduced and felt a flush rise on her cheeks before she snapped her gaze away.
“Countess de Fontenay?” Dreux asked incredulously.
Hearing astonishment, she looked at Dreux again. His lips twitched in amusement. His white-blond hair, pale blue eyes, and sculptured features disconcerted her. She frowned, seeing his gaze sweep from her hair to her figure, over her face, and stare too long at her eyes.
“I am . . . I am honored,” he said, “to represent King William and to serve as your betrothed’s proxy. I look forward to the blessed day Lord Stafford meets you himself.”
“Thank you,” she said, confused by Dreux’s smile conveying both curiosity and mischief.
“Come,” Abbot Juhel said.
The men circled her as she approached the table and the parchment arranged before her. Her presence, a mere formality, required her to attach her seal to the agreement. Regaining her composure and aware of the import of this moment, she refused the offered seat.
Abbot Juhel handed her a small bar of red wax and pointed out the silk ribbon. Holding the cool wax, she gazed at the white ribbons attached to the document, one bearing King William’s seal, another her uncle’s, and the others yet to be sealed.
She set the wax aside. “I would like to read the agreement.”
“There is no need to do so,” Arques said abruptly. “All is in order.”
Abbot Juhel tapped his thick finger on the document at the place for her seal.
She smiled at the witnesses. “I invite you to have more wine or to take a stroll.” She gestured toward the side table. “I will take but a moment.” She raised the documents and began to read, turning toward the candlelight.
No one moved. They glared at her, their backs stiffened by disbelief.
Dreux’s surprise that she could read quickly dissolved into outrage, a sentiment shared by the others, judging by their expressions. She trespassed into their domain as if she could alter the results. It was bluster. She had no option, and they all knew it. Despite his annoyance, he saluted her effort, wondering if she were reluctant to marry Alaric, who attracted women like woolen hose attracted stickers. He would enjoy telling Alaric that his bride hesitated.
As silent moments passed, Arques’ fury became so ferocious he thought he might snap. He could not allow this woman to slight his authority in front of Thierry and the others. He must act. Glaring at Elise, he cleared his throat to get her attention. She continued to read.
Arques announced, “The Countess de Fontenay can read, but the words,” his hand rocked in the air, “have little meaning to her.” He shrugged and swept his gaze to Juhel.
“Yes,” the abbot concurred. Leaning close to her ear, he urged softly, “Child, you cannot possibly understand the agreements. We, adept at such comprehension, have provided well for you.”
She looked up at the abbot, startled by his hard eyes, which belied those gentle words.
“Abbot Juhel.” Her gaze darted to the others in the room. “I mean no disrespect, but the nuns spent many years teaching me to read the scriptures. Surely, their endeavors were not wasted.” She clutched the documents. “After all,” she continued, “the scriptures have greater import than a mere listing of lands. Is that not so?” She smiled at him, hearing only the sputtering candle beside her in the heavy silence of the room.
“Yes.” Juhel’s eyes pierced hers, and his finger pointed in her face, nearly touching her nose. “Take care, Lady de Fontenay,” his voice deepening. “Challenging your guardian may draw the devil’s attention to your aspirations.” He continued, his voice lower and more frightening, “I am sure you intend no insult to the agents of the kings of Francia and Englelond. My dear countess, you trust and obey your liege lords, do you not?”
Icy fear gripped her as she looked from Thierry to Dreux. Their expressions clearly demanded her acquiescence. Was her insistence treasonous? Could the Church excommunicate her for reading the documents? Had she crossed some invisible barrier marking her for life?
“My lords,” she said, madly pressing her case, “I would like to read the documents. If you prefer,” she paused, “I could affix my seal tomorrow after I have studied how the land and rents will be distributed.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.
Her threat, delivered in a soft but determined voice, astonished them all. Before they could rail against her, Brian Dubec coughed. Everyone turned to him.
“The countess should read the documents now,” he said, rubbing his chin and moving toward the side table. Looking at Thierry and Dreux, he asked, “will you join me in another wine?” After a brief hesitation, they did so, and Elise resumed reading.
She scanned her seneschal’s inventory: the woods, meadows, pastures, manors, mills, and villages. Quickly, she glanced at the acres farmed, the timber cut, the crops sowed this year, and the estimated revenues from the spring, summer, and winter seed. She skipped over the tally of sheep, pigs, and other livestock, searching for the gold and silver.
In moments, she became aware of the men pacing the room. Occasionally one or another sighed loudly or yawned or rapped his rings on the table as he walked by. They urged her to hurry. They mentioned the feast awaiting them and that the hour grew late. She continued to read. Arques and Juhel hovered over her. Moments passed while she read, ignoring Arques’ agitated, impatient grunts and Juhel’s growling stomach. Soon, all the men were standing around her again, waiting impatiently for her.
They all want this union too much. Although her betrothed held estates in places called Wessex and Mercia, they were small and unimportant. Consequently, her land would enrich him. He will gain legal authority and sole control over her wealth. He would not have to ask her about using the lands and rents, improvements, distribution, trades, or otherwise. She would have no say in which of her children, if any, inherited these lands. By law, he could distribute her wealth to anyone—a mistress, the Church. But he would not take everything.
Even after marriage, she would control Fontenay and retain her title, but it was unclear who would retain the Aumale and Mortemer rents. Her eyes raced across the pages, searching for their disposition, and stopped to reread a single clause.
Elise quickly read the disposition of her wealth if she outlived her husband and flushed, reading her betrothed’s promise to maintain her according to God’s law—a law requiring her absolute obedience. A law she had already broken by reading the documents. She could not now retreat. Betrothal documents superseded any other arrangement. They must be specific.
Raising her eyes to Arques, she asked, “Please clarify the provisional clause assigning the Aumale and Mortemer rents to you.”
“The arrangement is quite customary,” Arques insisted.
She turned to Juhel, who, in his anger at her effrontery, raised his arrogant nose and pointed at the documents. “It is all written clearly. You see, gentlemen,” he chuckled, turning to the others, “she is a simpleton, unable to understand such matters.” He tried to snatch the documents from her hand as someone snickered.
Anger heated her cheeks, and she trembled even as she clutched the parchment. She took a deep breath. Putting the documents down, she gripped the table’s edge. In barely a whisper, she asked Thierry, “My lord, will you explain the provision?”
Thierry’s silence condemned her. She counted slowly, commanding her breath to come easily. Very well, she thought. She stepped back from the table.
As if by silent agreement, all but Dubec moved in on her. Powerful men surrounded her. They glared at her with merciless eyes, with the snarling grimace and thin lips of predators. They blocked her exit, their faces towered above her. Trapped behind the table, she could not breathe. They erupted, speaking at once, their voices hurting her ears.
“This delay is not amusing,” Thierry declared. “King Philip will find your insolence—”
“We have indulged your curiosity long enough,” Arques boomed, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Your arrogance is intolerable, shameful!” He stabbed at the parchments. “As your guardian, I command you to approve these documents without further delay.”
She did not move.
Juhel shook his head. “You have a wicked and sinful nature,” he said, his voice rumbling deeply. “You have contradicted God’s laws by disobeying us. We should spare your husband from such a wife! Eustace should send you back to the abbey.”
The abbey! Inexplicable terror sparked down her spine. She tried to think as their anger throbbed in the room. Tilting up her face, she saw it—a slight gleam, a sparkle of excitement flickered among them, like beasts charging for the final kill. She recoiled. Her back flattened against the wall.
Dubec pushed through the men crowding her and planted both hands on the table directly in front of her. Leaning in, he caught her attention. “It was decided among us,” his calm voice broke the tension, “the estates—”
“She has no need to know,” Arques growled at Dubec and waved his arm in dismissal. “She—”
“We have already agreed,” Thierry said, putting a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.
“She must obey her masters without question,” Abbot Juhel said, snatching the parchments. “She must append her seal. Now!”
Dubec slammed his hand on the documents with a snarl and bared teeth. The abbot released them immediately. Straightening, Dubec said, “The countess still controls her dower.” The other men turned on Dubec.
“You are pandering to this—this child,” Juhel barked, flicking his hand toward Elise. “She cannot comprehend the divine will of kings.”
Dubec looked solely at her and began to explain the disposition of the rents. The others backed away.
Able to breathe again, Elise felt too grateful for Brian’s intercession to wonder at his motives. She listened intently to his explanation. Lifting her hand to her throat, she asked Dreux, “My betrothed gifts me estates near Wales. What are my rights?”
Despite his obvious annoyance, Dreux explained, “The English acknowledge a woman’s ownership and control of her dower and all inherited land—even after her marriage.”
Astonishing, Elise thought. With very few exceptions, Norman women lost those rights upon marriage.
Dreux continued. “Betrothal gifts are not inherited. Ordinarily, your husband would administer those estates. In this case, Alaric gives you the Leominster estates under Angle and Saxon laws, with the privilege to use and dispose of the land as you choose.”
Elise picked up the documents again and stepped out from behind the table where she had been trapped a moment ago. “So, English laws govern English lands, and Norman laws govern Norman lands?”
“Precisely,” Dreux answered.
“Will English laws change to Norman laws?” Elise moved away from the table. “Will they be applied to my betrothal gift?”
“We cannot know this now, my lady,” Dreux answered as she slowly crossed the room toward the screen. “For now, King William intends to uphold English laws even if they do not conform to Norman laws.”
She ignored his eyes crinkling as if he read her intention to bolt. A glance at the others milling about the room revealed they were too incensed to notice her movement.
“You have all been very diligent,” she said. “However, there is one change I would like to make.”
They stopped in mid-motion, their glances flashing to one another.
“Enough!” Arques shouted. “You trifle with our patience.” He looked at the men. “A mere woman cannot dictate the matters of her betrothal.”
Dubec turned to Arques, “Leave us, now.”
“Underlings do not give orders,” Arques snarled. “Go bark at your master!”
“Take care, Arques,” Thierry warned. “Best not to offend your sole patron.”
Elise gasped. Thierry’s remark reminded everyone that only Eustace had given Arques sanctuary when he left Normandie in defeat. No one aided him now. All courteous pretense honoring his former rank and importance vanished. Arques’ lips curled, exposing his thoughts: Once, I would have crushed you all!
After he brushed past Elise, she spoke. “My lords.” She took a deep breath and felt behind her for the edge of the screen. “I . . .” her voice cracked. “I want the document to state specifically that the Aumale and Mortemer rents,” she paused, “are solely mine to administer and distribute as I wish, even after my marriage.”
Abbot Juhel turned toward Dreux, who shrugged and, in turn, glanced at Thierry. She understood. The decision belonged to Thierry alone.
Thierry looked at the young and very bold Countess Genevieve Elysia de Fontenay and recognized her cousin King Philip’s tenacious mind. Thierry thought about Genevieve’s mother, Eustace’s sister, more clever than her husband. A woman could understand and manage her affairs or the affairs of a kingdom. Philip’s own mother, Anna, handed him a solvent kingdom. During William’s absence, the duchy thrived under Matilda’s rule, and she had ensured no local conflict detracted from William’s kingdom across the Narrow Sea.
He mentally reviewed the rents in question. Though substantial, the land produced revenues and wealth far beyond the rents. Aumale and Mortemer were vital for Francia’s future. Of course, Philip would be pleased to have her keep the rents—until he needed them. But she could give them to her husband.
He measured the Countess de Fontenay. She had demonstrated an annoying courage today, he thought. An independent mind could endanger Philip if used against him. More importantly, the countess had known precisely when to act—an essential skill.
He raised an eyebrow. It was a gamble. He could not be sure, but he thought this countess understood the importance of her land, how precariously she balanced between Normandie and Francia. If so, she would be a formidable ally or a formidable opponent. In either case, she would tread carefully and check her husband.
Thierry’s eyes flickered at her. “It shall be written so.” Without further dissent, Abbot Juhel snatched the documents from her hand and began amending the final terms.
Elise stayed by the screen, allowing herself to breathe again. She closed her eyes, listened to the nib scraping against the parchment, and felt her body shaking. It’s too late to wonder what exactly I have done. She started when her eyes opened. Dreux stood before her, offering a cup of wine.
“Please accept my esteem. Your betrothal has been far more interesting than I expected when first sent to represent Stafford.” Though he smiled, she sensed resentment. “I had not foreseen a woman’s . . . perplexity.”
She warily took the wine. “Please forgive any discomfort I caused you.” She sipped, realizing that Dreux would report everything to her husband before she ever met him.
“Apology accepted,” he said soberly. He saluted her with his cup, yet his gesture warned against further offense.
When Juhel announced the documents ready, Elise returned to the table. She read the changes, and taking the wax bar, she paused. This betrothal would condemn her irrevocably to a life and all eternity as wife and chattel to a man she had never seen. Elise melted the wax and let it drip into something resembling a pool of blood on the ribbon beneath Alaric’s angry, bold hand. She pressed her ring into it, leaving her distinctive seal: a standing woman within an oval, her name written around the edges. Dreux and Thierry added their seals.
Afterward, they all stood before Abbot Juhel. Excluded by custom from participating, Elise listened to the men flanking her. Dubec, on Eustace’s behalf, gave her to Alaric of Ewyas. Dreux, as proxy, promised to wed her. Juhel ended his prayers, saying, “This betrothal, blessed in the year of our Lord’s incarnation, 1067, is witnessed by God, and as long as both parties live, it may never be broken or set aside. The marriage will take place in all haste in Stafford province.”
The finality chilled her.