Disguising was a popular evening entertainment, and although no one doubted that the masked figures who swarmed into the great hall were members of the baron’s household, that did not lessen anyone’s delight at their game. Tonight, a tall man in a unicorn mask was pursued by six ladies, also wearing masks and dressed like fairies. Their impossibly tall headpieces swayed as they danced in a circle around the unicorn. Then, one more lady entered, her face hidden by a heavy veil fashioned from gilded netting. She approached the dancers, who, upon seeing her, fell to the ground as if playing a children’s game. Thus freed, the unicorn took his rescuer by the hand and danced with her. When the music finished, he bowed over her hand, giving it an exaggerated kiss.
Cecily, seated next to Father Simon, laughed with the others who were debating the meaning of the scene and trying to figure out the identities of the masked performers. The joyful atmosphere in the hall was enhanced by servants bringing out more and more spiced honeyed wine, but that had far less of an impact on the guests than had the official news that came before they dined: King Henry had defeated the French at Harfleur. There was still no word from William, but that was to be expected. He would hardly be able to send messages at such a time, but his name had not been listed among those reported dead. Grateful relief consumed Cecily. She had room for no other emotion, which was probably why she paid so little attention to Adeline that night.
The disguisers gone, the minstrels started to play a tune, and much of the party got up to dance. Cecily declined however, preferring instead to talk to Father Simon, who had offered prayers of thanks with her after the news of the battle came. But when Dario Gabrieli approached her, Adeline by his side, and begged Cecily to join in the dance, she found herself whisked up with the others. The troubadour moved more gracefully than even the ladies, and when the dance finished, he called for the minstrels to stop playing and asked that someone bring him his lute.
He stared directly at Cecily as he tuned the instrument, his eyes still lingering on her when he began to sing, telling the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere. Cecily fidgeted in her seat, wishing he would stare at someone else. She looked around. Everyone else was focused on him, Father Simon included. For this she was grateful. She did not want anyone to think she welcomed Gabrieli’s attention.
With a sigh, she poured more wine into her pewter goblet, but as she raised it to her lips, she noticed Adeline, her face still flushed from the exertion of dancing, watching her with a contented smile. She looked at Cecily and then at Gabrieli. Adeline, too, was holding a glass, and she raised it to her friend before she drank. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Cecily slipped from her seat and went around the perimeter of the hall until she reached Adeline.
“When you accepted Dario’s offer of friendship I did not suspect you had this in mind,” Adeline said, leaning close and whispering to Cecily. “It is most exciting.”
“You have misinterpreted entirely,” Cecily protested. “There is nothing between us.”
“I know how you like to emulate Christine de Pizan, so you are no doubt disappointed that I am not following her excellent advice and trying to dissuade you from your course of action,” Adeline said. “You’ll get no criticism from me, only a friend in whom you can confide anything. I shall never breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“I assure you, there is nothing to hide,” Cecily said.
“My dear friend, I shall not press you on the matter.” Adeline’s smile reminded Cecily of an extremely satisfied cat. “You must be careful, though. The other ladies are bound to be jealous. Thank goodness you have me to protect you.”
“I saw Gabrieli give you a note,” Cecily said. “If you mean to impugn me in an attempt to disguise your own behavior—”
“Do not speak to me like that,” Adeline said. “You are a guest in my home. I have taken you in and stayed loyal to you despite your immoral leanings. Conduct yourself carefully, madam, lest you find yourself in a more uncomfortable situation.”
* * *
On a crisp October day, King Henry and his much-reduced army—he now had fewer than a thousand men-at-arms, and the total number of his force was less than half what he had started with—set off from Harfleur. They were attacked only a few miles later, but rebuffed their enemy with little effort and continued their march. The men braced for another skirmish, but it did not come.
When they reached the town of Arques, the king demanded—and was given—free passage across the river. The same strategy worked again in other cities, but the soldiers began to hear rumors that the French were amassing a great army, swollen with the men who had not come to the aid of their countrymen at Harfleur. Was Henry’s good fortune starting to change?
The king’s plan to cross the Somme where his great-grandfather Edward III had after defeating the French at Crécy nearly a century ago could not be achieved. The French had anticipated him, and the English continued on until they could find a safer place to ford the river, forced to move deeper into the center of the country. They were still searching for an adequate site on the day they should have reached Calais.
William had grown weak during the march, and could no longer ignore the pain radiating from the wound on his face. He poured wine on it, as the doctor had instructed, and kept it packed with the prescribed poultice. Rain beat down on the army. Morale was low. It seemed France would destroy them.
And just when William started to believe things couldn’t get worse, the unthinkable happened. A soldier had disobeyed the king. Not only had he stolen from a town they passed through, he had stolen from the church, removed the gilt—though not gold—pyx that held the bread for the Eucharist.
Would God support an army who stole from His house? Or would He turn His back on the English and their king? A dark gloom came over William. He pulled from his pack the diptych that matched the one he had given to his wife, fell to his knees, and prayed.