It’s a clear, pale day. The Lady Roselyn and her plump, fussy, middle-aged maid Cassandra are watching from a window as Jean and Raoul walk their horses into the courtyard. She sees they are both dressed for travel, wearing broad brimmed hats, wool shirts, a doublet of leather, good fitting hose, riding boots and swords in a baldric. Roselyn watches, appraising them as they move toward the covered wagon stood in the courtyard being loaded with her belongings.
They speak to the pot-bellied driver a moment then the younger goes over to inspect the thick legs of the dray horse. Roselyn notices their horses are loaded with mostly military gear, including a second sheathed sword on the older man’s horse, a lute on the younger of the two. She watches as her escort exchange glances, raising their eyes to the heavens at seeing how much baggage she has had loaded.
The slim, graceful figure of Roselyn, a thick brown pony tail bouncing on her shoulders appears from the door dressed ready for travel in the early spring. ‘Good day. You must be Jean Rombaud, my escort?’ Jean notices her voice has a pleasant musical tone to it.
Jean bows slightly. ‘At your service, Lady Roselyn.’ He turns to introduce his nephew who is stood with his thumbs tucked into his belt, sweeping his eyes up and down her form. ‘This is my assistant, Raoul. Are you ready?’
Raoul smiles and bows. Roselyn returns his smile. Their looks linger over each other a moment.
She raises a hand. ‘Not quite, we have our farewells to make.’
‘We?’
‘My Abigail Cassandra and me.’
‘Forgive me my lady,’ replies Jean, ‘I thought we would be escorting just one person, not two.’
‘A lady does not travel anywhere without her maid.’
‘We have a long way to go and need to start our journey.’ Jean informs her.
‘We have our farewells to make,’ she replies with a stubborn smile.
Jean is insistent. ‘We are on Royal business lady. We cannot have any delays.’
She glances at him piqued, quickly returning indoors, where much crying can be heard, then Roselyn reappears with Cassandra and several family members of various ages who Roselyn and Cassandra try to hug individually, but all at the same time, so everyone gets in each other’s way to create a confusing mess. Roselyn composes herself a moment, then hugs each one singularly.
Jean stands impatient. ‘My lady, the wagon could slow us down.’
Before she answers, a groom appears leading a horse fit for riding side-saddle. Roselyn turns once more to her family friends, gives them a curtsey then walks toward the horse to be helped up by the groom. Cassandra scowls at Jean, then is assisted up onto the wagon by the driver.
Roselyn calls to Jean, ‘We can go ahead and Cassandra will catch up to us at the port.’
With a final wave to the family, she gallops off. Jean shakes his head and gives Raoul another agitated glance and mounts up.
***
The wagon finally arrives at the port of Calais. Quickly Roselyn’s belongings begin to be transferred from the wagon onto the merchant vessel. Louis the magician and his son Vincent had their wagon of magical trickery secured aboard the ship earlier. Jean and Raoul also have their horses aboard and are standing by the gangway. Jean looks around showing his impatience. ‘Now, where is she?’ He calls across the gangway to the driver, ‘Where’s your mistress?’
The driver looks up. ‘She’s gone for a look around the fish market while we are loading.’
Jean turns to Raoul, unable to mask his annoyance. ‘I hope she’s not going to be a nuisance. Go and find her will you. The fish market!’
Raoul’s mind wonders over the familiar smells of fresh caught fish, trying to separate crab from cod, mussels from plaice while he looks for Roselyn. He finds her and Cassandra having a good look around the stalls and taking in the atmosphere.
‘There you are my lady. Time to return so we can sail.’
Roselyn smiles and nods, then goes to examine a basket of crabs held out for her inspection by an aged fishwife. She speaks to Cassandra standing at her shoulder. ‘I really like crabs.’
Raoul urges her as they have to be going. ‘We don’t have time to dwell here, it’s time to sail.’
Cassandra stiffens to the blunt tone in his voice, she does not care to have her Roselyn spoken to in that way. With an imperious tone she turns to let Raoul know her displeasure. ‘Lady Roselyn is not going to be hurried or spoken to like that by a tradesman, kindly change your tone.’
Were Roselyn not so attractive, Raoul thinks, I would be angry with her. He clears his throat. ‘I am not a tradesman.’
Cassandra looks him up and down. ‘What then? Merchant?’
He takes a moment to study Cassandra, thinking her a harridan, then toward the features of Roselyn. Now she is close, this vision who has been on his mind the past day. He is pleased to discover his romanticized vision, being far inferior to the beauty stood before him now. He studies her large, bright, violet eyes, fringed by long eye lashes, her straight nose above full, well-formed lips.
‘Well?’ Insists Cassandra, bringing Raoul back to reality.
‘Not at all. My uncle and I are on crown business.’
Roselyn looks curious. ‘By your attire you could be mercenaries.’
‘Something like that. Now my lady, if you please…’
‘At least have we some time to talk?’ she asks softly.
‘We only have time to catch the tide. I must remind you, we are on crown business. Please…’
Cassandra is too ready to butt in. ‘I don’t care if you were King Henry himself, you have no right to speak to Lady Roselyn like that. Apologise this instant.’
Roselyn can tell by his expression; Raoul is getting annoyed with her. ‘Come Cass, we can’t keep the tide waiting.’
When Raoul returns with them, he notices the wagon has been unloaded and all their baggage has been placed aboard. Cassandra is almost bent over, wheezing, trying to catch her breath. Roselyn turns to Raoul. ‘Poor Cass, you will need to give her a hand onboard. She’s not as agile as she once was.’ Roselyn turns to the wagon driver and goes into her purse, taking out some coin which she hands over. ‘Thank you for your work.’
He brings a hand up to touch his forehead and nods in pleasure at the tip. ‘Thank you, my lady. There is transport for your baggage arranged at the other side. You’ll have no trouble with Jean Rombaud escorting you.’
‘Oh, why? Is there something special about him?’ she asks curiously.
‘Yes, my lady. I recognise him. It’s Jean Rombaud, the finest executioner in Europe!’
She looks dumbstruck, while Cassandra’s eyes open wide as she clasps her throat with a hand.