CHAPTER XIV

 

The Year 1119

King Henry’s Castle at Caen

 

Cheering crowds lined the roads and filled every village all the way from Lisieux to Caen to watch the wedding procession of Crown Prince William Atheling and Countess Marie D’Anjou.

King Henry led the way, riding a magnificent black stallion. The monarch was resplendent in his gleaming golden crown and ermine-trimmed purple velvet cloak. He was escorted and surrounded by knights in splendid array, followed by the nobles and ladies of his court, as well as most of his more than twenty five illegitimate children.

The peasants had been given a holiday, leaving their fields and drudgery to catch a glimpse of the handsome groom and his beautiful bride. The couple smiled and waved graciously to their enthusiastic subjects as they traveled along the flower-strewn roads astride proud white horses.

Marie had never seen so many people or so many knights. Bodyguards surrounded them, which was understandable given the fact that her new father-in-law was still at war with King Louis the Fat of France. But there was no sign of hostility in the crowds who called out their names and blew kisses as they rode by.

The day could not have been finer. No clouds marred the perfect blue of the sky or obscured the radiant sunshine that bathed them in its warmth.

Marie had lain awake all night, nervously anticipating the moment when she would see her betrothed for the first time, but when she walked up the aisle of the cathedral in Lisieux and saw him standing at the altar before the Archbishop, all her fears evaporated. William was dark and handsome, just as she had imagined and hoped he would be. He had smiled warmly when he lifted her veil to kiss her for the first time as they were pronounced man and wife.

The prince held Marie’s hand as together they bowed deeply to their liege. King Henry had kind eyes. He stepped forward and embraced her, kissing her warmly on each cheek. He whispered in her ear, “Welcome, daughter, to my family.”

When they left the cathedral, her own father kiss to bid her farewell was chilly. She was leaving without his ever having known her. You have ruled me, father, she thought, but you care not if you ever see me again.

Marie’s mother’s farewell kiss felt like the peck of a chicken, a quick and indifferent goodbye. Mother’s headdress and gown outshone any of the other ladies’, and her haughty demeanor showed how pleased she was to be making a good appearance, which was all that mattered to Mother.

Only when Marie knelt to embrace the baby brothers and sister she loved so well did she feel any pang of sadness to be leaving the home that had been her heart’s prison. Surely William would let the babies visit. They would still be part of her life, even after she moved to England.

Marie stole glances at her new husband as they rode toward the king’s castle, noting how he charmed the crowd with his easy smile, making them cheer when he caught a flower someone tossed, kissed it, and handed it to her. She blushed shyly and smiled radiantly at him, thinking what beautiful children they would make together.

At last I am free, Marie thought. I am Prince William’s wife, and he is wonderful. I shall surely die of happiness in his arms.

William looked at her. “Happy?” he shouted through the din.

She nodded. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

The prince was so handsome, so young and full of life, a modern man. Marie thought how perfect life would be and how this day fulfilled the promise of all the lonely days that came before.

The bride’s first view of the king’s castle took her breath away. The gigantic enclosure extended over twelve and a half acres on a rocky outcrop overlooking the city of Caen. It made her father’s castle look small. The upper parts of the walls were crenellated, making it a formidable fortress. Colorful banners flew from the graceful pointed roofs of the castle’s many towers.

William the Conqueror had built the magnificent edifice, adding on one side an abbey for men, where he was buried, and on the other an abbey for women, where his wife, Queen Matilda, was entombed. The upper floors of the four towers that straddled the walls were connected by covered walkways. The other towers were built onto the outside walls themselves. The whole enclosure was surrounded by a dry moat full of grass and blooming flowers, poppies and wild pink lilies. Vines bearing purple and white blossoms climbed the ramparts.

As the wedding procession neared the gates, a fanfare of trumpets sounded from the towers to announce their arrival. A huge drawbridge was slowly lowered over the moat. The sound of the horses’ hooves pounding across the bridge echoed in the flower-filled moat as they entered the castle grounds by the north tower gateway.

Marie counted several residence buildings and a chapel in the northwest part of the enclosure. In the southern section, over the heads of the cheering throng that greeted them within the castle walls, she could see the church of Saint George.

The party halted. King Henry dismounted in front of the great hall, a brand-new modern building, which he had designed himself. Marie had heard that her wedding feast was to be the new hall’s premier event.

A servant assisted the bride down from her horse and led her to her husband, who extended his arm to lead her inside. From the corner of her eye, Marie saw her lady-in-waiting, Genevieve, smiling broadly as she dismounted to join the servants in the kitchen. Marie could not wait to be alone with Genevieve so they could talk about how beautifully everything had turned out after all the planning and dreaming.

Accompanied by a trumpet fanfare, the bride and groom ascended the steps to the great hall, their ermine-trimmed velvet trains dragging regally behind them. A breeze blew Marie’s golden veil away from her face, revealing the brilliant red of her hair. The young couple’s smiles could not have been more radiant as they looked into each other’s eyes.

The glorious pair paused before the massive wooden doors to join the king in waving to the cheering crowd in the courtyard. A deafening roar greeted the release of two-dozen pure white doves that had been concealed behind the doors.

William and Marie presented the picture of happiness in their silks and velvets, with the jewels in their golden crowns glittering in the sunlight like day stars. Looking down at the faces of their subjects, Marie realized what an enormous responsibility was being laid on her shoulders.

This is not only a new beginning for us, she thought. We represent the hope of all of Normandy and England. Her heart swelled with love for these people. She blew them a kiss. Women in the throng wiped tears from their eyes. Flowers flew through the air like rain.

“They love you,” William whispered in her ear.

“They love us both,” she replied.

The crowd called to them.

“What are they shouting?” William said. “I cannot understand.”

Marie said shyly, “I believe they want us to kiss.”

“Ah!” William laughed gaily. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, teasing the people. Laughter rolled through the crowd, which shouted louder. The prince leaned toward his bride gallantly, one hand on the silver pommel of his sword. He obliged his subjects with a chaste kiss, and the crowd cheered wildly. Marie looked down shyly, turning so her new husband could lead her into the wedding feast.

The building was a wonder of modern architecture, over one hundred feet long by thirty-six feet wide consisting of two floors. The upper level was the banquet hall, which would also be used for the king to hold court and receive his barons, all of whom who had been invited to the celebration.

Banners hung from the rafters. Beautiful tapestries covered the walls, filling the room with warm color. High windows were strategically placed to allow the sun’s rays to pour into the vast space, creating pools of light on the floor. Hundreds of candles lit the hall. The long tables were festooned with fragrant garlands of roses. The guests raised goblets in the couple’s honor as Marie and William walked the length of the chamber to take their places at the high table next to the king.

Mouth-watering aromas floated up from the kitchens on the lower level. Young knights in training served as pages to direct the guests to their places and ensure their drinking cups were kept full.

From a balcony hidden by a tapestry a trumpet fanfare greeted the laverers wearing long scarves around their necks, who circled the tables with their whimsical aquamaniles and their accompanying bowls. These hollow vessels made of copper or brass were filled with warm rose and herb-scented water which was poured over the guests’ hands before they dined. The guests washed the dust of the road off their hands and dried them on the laverers’ scarves.

Water spilled from the mouth of a polished brass rooster, held by his tail handle. A dragon formed the handle of a vessel shaped like a proud, alert copper lion, the rear edges of all four of his legs notched and engraved to suggest fur. A dragon-headed spout supported the spigot that extended from the lion’s chest. Marie admired an aquamanile in the shape of a shiny brass wyvern, a fanciful beast similar to a dragon. Its handle was fashioned into a fish’s tail. The wyvern was devouring a tiny screaming man whose lower extremities had already disappeared into its fierce mouth.

The nobles sat at the high table. The king’s butler presented them with salt, a luxury reserved for them, which would not be offered to the guests at the lower tables, those seated below the salt. The container fashioned from an exquisite polished shell encased in jewel-studded gold.

The butler, wearing a long fringed fabric around his shoulders, cut the upper crust off the tops of loaves of bread that had been brightly colored, red with rose petals, or green with parsley, or gold with saffron. He served the upper crusts to the nobles first, before forming eating platters or trenchers from the lower crusts for the commoners.

A procession of servitors entered the hall carrying the vittles, accompanied by the merry music of lutes, viols, bells, and drums drifting down from the hidden balcony.

There was a roasted peacock with its magnificent tail opened like a fan, and a swan stuffed with a goose, which was stuffed with a pheasant stuffed with a partridge, and inside the partridge was a capon stuffed with duck, pigeon, and quail. Raucous applause greeted an entire roasted boar with an apple in its mouth. Succulent legs of lamb graced every table, surrounded by fresh summer fruit, honey and butter, and salads of mixed spring greens. The servitors brought in platters of asparagus with saffron, carrots, and venison. Wine and ale flowed freely as the guests dined on pigeons cooked in oyster shells, then threw the oyster shells on the floor when they were done.

The second course was met with applause and laughter, for it was Saint John’s urchins, fanciful hedgehog sculptures made of chopped meat wrapped in carob pastry. During this course, magical acts delighted and astounded the company.

Jugglers circled the guests during the third course of the banquet, an almond omelet made with currants, honey, and saffron.

Applause rose to a crescendo when the guests saw a trouvere step up for the next course’s entertainment. The servitors brought artichokes filled with blueberry rice to each place.

“Give us the Song of Roland!” cried the king.

The trouvere bowed and began the ancient ballad. Some of the guests sang along, for the heroic Song of Roland was a favorite.

 

“Beneath a pine was his resting place,

To the land of Spain hath he turned his face,

On his memory rose full many a thought,

Of the lands he won and the fields he fought.”

 

Ladies dabbed at their eyes as the trouvere sang in his clear tenor voice. Fists pounded on tables. The company cheered the moving performance, tossing flowers at the trouvere’s feet. No sooner had he bowed and taken his leave then dancers took his place, performing graceful pavanes and leaping dances while the guests were served a dizzying variety of honey-glazed sliced birds rolled with mustard, rosemary, and pine nuts. Sword magic and illusions accompanied the course of the finest Normandy cheeses.

Rousing applause erupted again when the traveling players arrived. Watching the men act out the popular story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the guests bit into small crullers made into animal shapes.

Finally the jugglers returned for an encore, topping their earlier performance by tossing burning torches. The servitors brought small almond spice cakes on roundels to each table. The roundels were platters with words or poems the guests must sing on them, and by the time this amusement was done, the sated company was collapsing with laughter.

At last came the part of the feast that was the children’s favorite, the carving and eating of sugar and pastry sculptures in the shapes of birds and flowers. When the feast was finally done, the children, many already asleep, were carried off or herded off to bed by their nurses, for the hour was late.

The celebration lasted long into the night. Marie danced happily with her husband, his father the king, and so many half-brothers and cousins she lost count. She was fawned over by barons and nobles and their ladies, who seemed charmed by her. She thought it would take her months to learn the names of her new half-sisters and all those cousins.

When the moon was high, William took his bride by the hand. Placing a finger over his lips in a gesture of secrecy, he led her down a back stair behind the kitchens, through a secret passage, down a long tunnel that ran beneath the courtyard to the royal residences and up a hidden stairway to their private chambers. Marie, aglow with happiness, felt flushed and giddy from too much wine. Her heart was pounding. She felt suddenly afraid.

“I want to be a good wife to you, William,” she said shyly.

The prince smiled. “I will be gentle,” he promised.

In the great hall the music played on.