Elise and Dreux entered the great hall, now illuminated with torches and candles. Hortense, Marie, and groups of knights in liege with those having interest in her marriage stood beside the central hearth and watched her approach. Elise’s spirits rose when she saw Roland and his cousins.
Marie stepped into the center of the group. Her blue eyes widened in awe at Dreux.
“This is my sister, Marie,” Elise said to Dreux.
“My!” she said breathlessly. “I would never have thought God made men like you!”
“Because she does not think at all,” Roland teased.
Marie turned to Roland and smiled brightly. “True!” she said as if discovering the fact for the first time. “All my thoughts scatter when I see a man,” she turned back to Dreux, “as tall, as strong, as deliciously—”
“Marie!” Hortense chided. Dreux chuckled.
Marie blinked as if coming out of a daze but kept her eyes on Dreux, ignoring Roland’s frown as he whispered loudly, “You should find her a husband and quick!”
“Oh, we’re looking,” Marie said, smiling at Dreux and missing Roland’s raised eyebrow.
Roland turned to greet Thierry de Châlons, to whom he reported. Hortense hugged Elise and greeted Dreux but returned at once to the banquet tables. As Marie gawked at Dreux, Roland took Elise’s hands.
“My lady,” he said, “God’s blessings. May your husband worship your countenance, your wit, your virtue, your wealth.”
“Ever my champion,” she smiled before introducing Dreux and Roland.
Elise saw two hardened warriors beneath the comportment of skilled royal envoys measuring each other. Roland, slightly shorter than Dreux, had thick, dark wavy brown hair, and piercing blue eyes, which did not hide his fiery temper, no doubt aroused by Marie’s flirtation.
“Does Stafford bear the Norse likeness as you do?” Roland asked.
“No. Dark as a Breton, I would say.” He grinned at Roland.
Marie gestured to the group. “Come. The feast begins.” She urged Elise and Dreux to the high table. “Coming, Roland? Tristan?” she asked, giving a sly side-glance.
Roland turned to Tristan. “They should unleash her in Englelond. She’d be William’s greatest weapon. The English would drop their arms and fall to their knees.”
Tristan, his eyes on the sway of Marie’s hips, chuckled. “She’d be lethal to William’s men, too,” he said.
After Juhel’s benediction, they all settled in for a luscious feast: beef, pork, swan and partridges, fish, bread, wine, and spirits. A round of toasts began, songs and jokes burst forth. Musicians performed, and all welcomed the entertainment and laughter after the somber days of Lent and Easter.
During a lull, Elise sliced into the moist, dark red swan’s breast and asked Dreux, “You and my betrothed are acquainted?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “We’ve known each other since our fostering days.”
Elise saw him look at the faint scare on his palm. Ah, a blood oath. Brothers for life.
“He saved my life just days before I left for Boulogne. We are close.”
“I have heard he is called the Black Wolf.”
“Yes,” Dreux chuckled. “He often has the appearance of a wolf—a snarling, gaunt, hungry, black wolf.” He laughed at her expression. “No, my lady, he appears so because . . . ,” he leaned over whispering, “he dislikes shaving, and his quick beard sinisters him.”
She laughed. “Thank you. I’ll not quake upon meeting him.”
When the guests finished eating, Elise rose, signaling that all might move about the room. Immediately Thierry de Châlons approached her.
“You were disagreeable today, Genevieve,” he said, escorting her toward the fire.
“I did not intend to be so, my lord.” Elise felt like that small child he used to tease when visiting their home. “I am pleased to retain my ancestral land,” she said, knowing the Vexin trapped her between Philip and William. “Please assure King Philip that I embrace my duty to preserve it.”
“Of course. Philip remembers you and holds you dear, Genevieve. Very dear.”
Elise understood: Philip’s concern would follow her across the Narrow Sea. Despite sharing their lineage, his father, King Henri, had decimated Elise’s home, destroyed her family, and sanctioned her people’s rape and brutal murders. With hatred and fear of royal license, she had met King Philip for the first time at his coronation. She was fourteen, he was eight. Four years later, upon leaving the abbey, she paid homage to the young king. Despite their different ages, they experienced an easy camaraderie, as Philip loved riddles and puns, an interest Elise indulged. Even at twelve, Philip hid a keen, serious mind. Once, he had caught her watching him and chided—or warned—Beloved cousin, best not be too observant!
“Stay vigilant, Genevieve,” Thierry said, banishing her memories. “You are like a daughter to me, and although I speak as a father, a friend, always remember I am Philip’s advisor. Eustace has joined your land to a man rumored to have exceptional military abilities. The combination alone threatens Normandie and Francia, yet both William and Philip agreed to this union. We do not know Eustace’s intent, but—”
“—he could use this marriage to pit William and Philip against each other. If so, there will be difficult times, difficult decisions.”
“Astute as usual,” Thierry nodded. “If you are ever in trouble with William, I will help you.” Although spoken gently, his eyes held her with piercing intensity.
“In trouble?”
“I tutored William when he was a child and know him better than most. That alone inspires my pledge.”
The gravity of this offer from Thierry de Châlons alarmed her. She had no idea what danger lie ahead, but Thierry clearly thought she would need him. “Would your assistance extend to my husband and children?” she asked.
“If you ask, Elise,” his eyes sober, “such a request can only be met once.”
She nodded.
They heard laughter, and both turned to see Marie talking with Roland. “Marie will be alone and in danger from Arques.” Elise said. “She wishes to marry Roland de Rennes. Eustace may have other plans.”
Thierry nodded. “I cannot promise such a favorable betrothal. The duchess of Brittany must agree. Rest assured, Marie will be safe until she is wed.”
“Thank you, my lord. Please tell King Philip I am always his faithful servant.”
“He depends on it.” Thierry kissed her on the cheek before rejoining the festivities.
A sudden cacophony captured her attention. The dogs were all barking, leaping about, wagging their tails, and pointing their eager noses in the air. The celebrants jeered and laughed as a jongleur strutted down the center of a table, balancing beakers on his head and juggling wooden trenchers. Nobles bet how many trenchers he could juggle before dropping them. A Parisian knight tried to flip up the jongleur’s short tunic, eliciting laughter from the Bretons, bawdy comments from Flemings, and censorious frowns from the Normans.
Hortense clapped her hands over both ears and tried to get up from a bench but was held in place by one of Thierry’s men, a white-haired knight, who swept his arm around her and pulled her onto his lap, making her blush.
Searching the hall, Elise found Walter. The illustrious guests shunned him, for he had no standing among even the lowest soldiers, yet he laughed with the musicians and appeared interested in their instruments and clothing.
“I see Dubec has found entertainment,” Roland said, joining her.
Following his gaze, she saw Brian ogling a couple of maidens whose side glances said they would entertain him later this night.
“Thank you for coming, Roland,” she said. “I will appreciate your escort.”
“Truly, it will be my pleasure.” His demeanor stiffened when Dreux de Ville approached them. De Ville, the stunning Norseman, seemed intent to goad Roland by turning a lingering gaze on Marie.
“Will you stay long in Boulogne?” Elise asked to divert him.
“No,” he said, facing her. “I must deliver your betrothal documents to Rouen. I will meet you at Lord Stafford’s castle and witness your wedding.”
He glanced again at Marie, then gave Roland a knowing smile and asked, “When you were in Rome, did you meet many Normans?”
“I did,” Roland said curtly. “They infest the papal palace.”
Dreux smiled. “My brothers in Sicily are establishing new markets and trade routes with the East. Normans supply William with exotic and rare goods.”
“And choke the Pope with their avaricious appetites.”
“And save him with their military acumen,” Dreux parried.
The men stared at each other as if planning their next assault.
“Your Duke William,” Roland said, “has inspired the Sicilian Normans to invade where Normans have no rights.”
“As long as the Pope validates our rights, we shall extend them.”
“To Brittany?”
Dreux shrugged. “No conflict exists between Normandie and Brittany—now. Not since your sister took the duchy’s reins. We have among us many Bretons in league with my King William. Some, you may know. Some your kin, perhaps?”
“It has been my experience and perhaps yours, that kinship is a strong bond holding our provinces together, and the first sacrificed when rich spoils abound. Do you serve William from loyalty or for the promise of a fortune?”
“Like you, I have given my oath and serve my liege lord with my sword and my life. And rich English spoils will be a most welcome reward.”
Elise asked, “Is it true Normans from Sicily showed William how they ship war horses on the Middle Sea?”
Both men turned to her as if stunned by her presence. Both relaxed their hackles and began to discuss the invasion. Others joined them as Dreux recalled the events: the nearly frenzied nighttime launch and the fog, which obscured William’s lead ship. Someone asked about the vessels lost, the landing, and the first days.
Certain the discussion averted blows, Elise scanned the hall. Abbot Juhel caught her eye. Heeding his silent command, she wove through the room, passing Marie surrounded by several knights captivated by her wicked tales of the cloister. When the men roared with laughter, Elise glanced back and saw Roland’s attention shift from Dreux to Marie.
“You have something to say to me, Genevieve,” Juhel said when she reached him.
“Thank you, Abbe, for honoring me with your venerable presence.”
“As your confessor, I admonish you to think carefully of your duty to your lord husband, a duty established by God’s word and the apostle Paul.” Juhel hard eyes blistered her. “Ambitious women displease God.”
Abbot Juhel, a maternal relative, had protected Elise and Marie after Mortemer. She did not want their first meeting in three years to end with antagonism. She suspected his anger stemmed from a bruised pride. In front of royal emissaries, she had embarrassed him, a prelate highly respected by Rome and trusted by both kings.
“I shall endeavor to follow God’s word,” she said.
“As with all women, you carry within the seeds of great iniquity and malevolence. You must seek a pious life to correct these deficiencies.”
“Is it true,” she asked, attempting to shift his thoughts, “that William brought Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury with him to Rouen?”
“Adhere to your place, Genevieve. Matters of church and kingship are beyond your comprehension.”
She watched his flaccid jaw, quivering with anger. We were so close once, she thought, looking at the bejeweled rings on his hands. After a pause, she pursued a different course. “When I was a child, you took me into your heart.” He shuddered and looked away. “Despite your harsh discipline, Marie and I found peace. You helped us to heal the wounds of our disruption. I do not wish a corrosive reunion. Can you forgive me for seeking to preserve my lands for our king and duke as the scriptures guide us? I will travel to a land of upheaval, a land said to flounder under the weight of a weak and corrupt Church. My betrothed is reputed to be a crude knight of the lowest order. Should those lands be placed solely at his disposal, for him to use and protect when he knows little of their import? Would William be comforted to know that you and I allowed Arques, his enemy, to retain rents, which could be turned against him?”
Juhel looked at her sharply.
“Am I wrong to seek your forgiveness and blessings, my dear Abbe?”
Juhel’s jaw relaxed. “No, my child. You are not wrong. I forgive you, Genevieve, again.” He glanced about the room and back to her. “You have my blessings. I pray you obey your lord husband and the Church in all things. Protect your soul, my child. Care for the souls of your husband and his people. Curb your impudence.”
“I shall,” she said.
“I expect you to continue your beneficence to Abbey Clarion.”
“You can be sure of it,” Elise said.
After they parted, she recognized the tension slithering through the room. Drinking and gambling games had begun. Men circled each other, poised and ready to wrestle. Arques laughed wildly as his men recounted their cruel pleasures. The fire glowed a deep orange, dogs chewed bones, a minstrel sat on the floor, beat on a drum, and sang a rousing song about a monk and a goose.
“William surrounds himself with young and capable soldiers,” Brian Dubec said, joining her.
Following his gaze, she saw Dreux laughing with his men. She found Roland across the room throwing dice with his. Elise turned to Brian. She would have liked him, but he always looked at her as if he expected her to know things she did not. “William needs strong, young soldiers, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. He will need them for decades.”
“In truth? I thought the English had been subdued. William is back in Rouen.” She felt suddenly foolish. She’d heard about English berserkers and dreaded the thought of living among them.
“Perhaps you are right, my lady.”
“Brian,” she frowned. “Do not presume I am an empty-headed primrose though I may seem so at times.”
He tilted his head as if acknowledging his thoughts precisely. “Yes, my lady.”
“Do you know my betrothed?”
He hesitated. “Slightly.”
“You do not like him!” The thought intrigued her.
Dubec shrugged. “He is a good soldier. I fight with many I neither like nor dislike. Stafford is one of those.”
“I see,” she said, glad for his candor. Although she had seldom seen Brian over the years, she felt they shared an unusually forthright relationship. She found his bluntness refreshing and reliable. “Will Eustace return to Wessex?”
Brian studied Elise before he spoke. “Not soon. He must turn his attention to Boulogne now.”
“And you?”
“My fortunes are with Eustace, my lady,” he said. “The more land Eustace receives, the more he will give to his vassals.”
But not to you. Her uncle had never given Brian even a small piece of land. His loyalty puzzled her. She watched him signal to Arques across the room, and now his attention fell to her again. “Thank you for your assistance this afternoon.”
“Your thanks are not required. I was sent to secure the match.”
“Why did Eustace agree to this marriage?”
“Stafford is favored by the king. The marriage will strengthen Eustace’s tie to William and to William’s rich kingdom.”
“My uncle is avaricious,” she said. “This marriage gives land away, it does not enhance Eustace’s coffers. What does he seek with this marriage?”
Brian shrugged. “Eustace believes Stafford will go far.”
“Does he think to control Stafford’s rise?”
Brian looked at her pointedly, and she realized, with this marriage, he already had.
“You are dangerously perceptive,” he said—all semblance of casual chatter erased from his face. “You do not know Eustace or me well. Heed my words: He is revengeful and ambitious. I am neither your friend nor your enemy. I am his liege vassal. All I have done and will do has been at Eustace’s bidding. These are uncertain times. Friend, enemy, relative, liege—none matters when the sword decides who is standing at the end of the day.”
“Why are you telling me this, Brian?”
“If Stafford continues to soar in King William’s estimation, Eustace will be showered in riches as well. If, however, Stafford flounders . . . well. Perhaps Eustace believes Stafford may benefit from the counsel of a clever ally—one who can demand and receive concessions from two royal envoys and a powerful abbot.”
She winced at the reminder. “I saw Eustace a decade ago. He cannot possibly expect anything from me.”
“Eustace knows a woman can be useful in shaping the course of events. He does not underestimate you. You are, after all, his niece.” His gaze swept over the soldiers in the hall. “Alliances shift quickly. Victory grasped one moment will dissolve into defeat the next. This is the way of life.”
He is telling me to be careful, she thought. “I hope we shall never be enemies, although I doubt we shall ever be friends.”
He agreed with a tilt of his head.
She changed the subject. “Once we cross the Narrow Sea, will you stay with me long?”
“No. I will guide your entourage to your new demesne, and,” he looked oddly at her, “I will witness the . . . wedding before joining Eustace.”
She studied him a moment, unsure what she saw in his eyes. “Thank you, Brian,” she whispered.
He nodded curtly to her and walked across the room to fill his beaker with wine.
Her mind swirled, and suddenly she felt exhausted. She turned to Marie, laughing with one of Roland’s men. Catching her eye, Marie extricated herself from their guests and bid them all farewell before escorting Elise to their bedchamber.
“My saints! You look pale, Elise,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
Elise shook her head. “I’m tired.” And frightened.