Fires of Winter (37 page)

The chamberlain only raised his brows disdainfully, but the almoner looked furious. I was not happy about working under the direction of two men who did not want me, but I had not been asked what I wanted any more than they had. Thus I became the queen's scribe for her closet, and the rest of that morning I spent poring over the accounts the dismissed priest had left with one or another of the queen's officers sneering at me.

At first I was frightened and thought I would have to tell the queen I was unfit for the post. The priest's hand was unfamiliar and he used many short forms that I did not recognize; however, I was afraid the queen would think me unwilling rather than unable, so I struggled on. Then the chamberlain left, saying he had business that could wait no longer on an idiot woman who could read no better than a pig. Nonetheless, his leaving meant I could put aside the accounts of purchases made for the queen's household, which were far more varied and thus more difficult to decipher than the almoner's record of charities.

The almoner was even less accommodating. He hardly gave me time to glance at a sheet before he snatched it away, and when I held tight, he pointed to one item after another, asking, “What is this? this? this? Stupid! No woman can read or keep accounts. All you are good for is between your legs.”

The more the almoner sniped at me, the angrier I grew, until I answered him roundly that I was no stupider and far less interested in what was between my legs than a priest who meddled with one of the queen's maidens. Moreover, I told him, holding fast to a sheet he seemed very eager to snatch away, I was not set to a guessing game but to learning, so he had better teach or I would go to my mistress and complain that he was trying to drive me to refuse her orders.

We went better after that in one way, worse in another; the almoner grudgingly explained what he could—at least I thought he was explaining what he could. At that time I believed he was almost as ignorant as I and resigned myself to discovering bit by bit what the forms meant, for I was determined to spite both men and please the queen. Still, I knew I had made a bitter enemy of the almoner. One would think that when after dinner the king called for dancing and Bruno came to lead me out, this matter, which might be of grave importance, would burst from my lips. Far from it, as soon as I laid eyes on him everything but the fact that I would sleep alone again that night flew from my mind. What I said at once was that there was no hope for lodging until court was over.

Bruno's grip on my hand tightened. “I must talk to you alone,” he said, “and I cannot find a moment's freedom until the king is abed. Also, I do not think we can wait until the court disperses. I am afraid the king will leave the same day he dismisses his vassals.”

“Leave?” I repeated, my shame over my desire for him driven out by surprise and alarm. “But will not the queen accompany the king?”

“No.” He stared at me in warning as we joined the row of dancers, and I realized he would not tell me more where others could hear.

“Perhaps we could meet—” I began, but I could not really think of a private place, and then we were separated by the figure of the dance.

By the time the set ended, I was furious with Bruno again. He had asked permission to lodge away from court not because he wanted me but because he needed a private place to give me instructions. But I am not a complete idiot, and angry as I was I understood that there must be matters of real importance he needed to tell me. Moreover, I had to tell him about the queen's peculiar behavior to me. In my anxiety over the actual records and the disgust of the chamberlain and almoner, I had not considered what she had done carefully—but I knew it was peculiar.

I had no chance either to express my hurt feelings or to mention my problem. Richard de Camville was waiting to take my hand from Bruno's for the next dance at the last note of music. I was about to refuse him, but Bruno shook his head, bowed to me, and said he must go, glancing toward the entrance to the king's closet. So I danced with Camville and then with other gentlemen. I am sure they found me pleasant company; I had experience enough answering my brothers while my mind was on other matters. And since I would not think about Bruno's indifference to me compared with my weakness for him, I thought instead about the almoner's uneasiness.

When the word came into my mind, it rang like a bell. There had been a real difference in the chamberlain's attitude toward me and the almoner's. The chamberlain had only been annoyed and contemptuous; he had not cared how long I studied any record except that I wasted his time. The almoner had not wanted me to look at anything slowly and carefully. Uneasy, that was the right word.

As soon as I could manage it, I pleaded exhaustion and made my way back to the queen's hall, where I found the chest that held the records and drew out those for the last month and began to look at them item by item. After a time, although I could not determine what each item was, I began to find a repetition of certain forms that I took to be specific religious institutions. Each amount was not great, but added together they came to a fair sum and it seemed strange to me that Queen Maud should give several small sums to the same places over a short time instead of one larger sum. Still, I could not believe this to be what made the almoner uneasy. A “fair sum” to me must be near nothing to him.

Sometime during the night I woke with a start with the realization that there was another use for what I had discovered the previous day. Surely the unusual pattern of giving had a purpose that the queen would remember. If so, I would have several names to match the forms on the record, and I might be able to use those to help me make out the meaning of others. Thus I came to the queen's bedchamber and begged admittance before she was dressed and surrounded by the great dames of the court.

Queen Maud was sitting up in bed propped by bolsters and attended only by two of her oldest and most trusted servants. She seemed surprised when I mentioned my trouble in understanding what the previous scribe had written and how I hoped to decipher some of it. All she said was that I was not responsible for the records before I began to keep them and I should write them as best suited me without regard to what had been done in the past, and waved me away. I was a little disappointed, for I was curious, but then I thought that there might be some private significance in those regularly given small sums and bowed my acceptance. I was hardly out the door, however, before I was called back, told to fetch the chest in which the records were kept, and asked to find and display the sheets and point out the entries.

There was a silence while the queen considered, then shook her head. “Not by my order,” she muttered. “I will discover what these are, but by my guess the sums went into his own pocket.”

“The almoner?” I gasped. I could not believe it.

“No,” Maud said, “the priestling.”

“But then why should the almoner be uneasy? I felt it, and I was angry because he insulted me. That was why I looked so carefully.”

“Because the priestling was his choice—probably his son—and he knew of it and did not stop it. And there is little I can do, for the Church reserves the right to try its own criminals.”

“But surely you can dismiss the almoner from his office? Why should you endure—”

“Hush!” The order was peremptory, and the queen looked startled, as if she had just realized that she had said more to me than she intended. She sat still for a time, her hands lying quietly on the parchments, her eyes on my face, but not seeing me, I thought. Then she said slowly, “A queen is not as free as a simple baron. The almoner is cousin to the bishop of Salisbury, the king's chancellor, and was recommended to me by him. To offend the bishop of Salisbury over so small a matter as his cousin's dishonesty would be very foolish.” There was a significant pause and then she added, “Therefore, you will say nothing of this matter to anyone.”

“No, madam,” I breathed, appalled that my pique at being thought incapable of keeping accounts should have led me to knowledge that I did not wish to have.

“I am not angry, Melusine,” she assured me, the tight line of her lips growing softer. “You were clever to see the oddity, and wise to come to me in private. If you should come across any other oddity—something you do not understand in what you are told to write down—do not fail to come to me again. Now you may go.”

I reached for the sheets, to put them away, but the queen shook her head. She smiled at me as I curtsied and may have intended to reassure me, but to my mind I was caught between drowning and hanging. I liked neither cheaters nor tale bearers, but I must be the one or excuse the other. Worse, what I thought a small matter, like the few shillings the priest had taken, might have roots and branches reaching far away that touched great people. And to turn a bad day worse, just after I had broken my fast without much appetite, Edna brought me a message from Bruno that he would be away from Westminster. He had left Fechin in case I wanted an escort, and he hoped to be back by twelfth night but could not be sure. As a cap to my misery, hard on Edna's heels a page came to summon me to the chamberlain, who threw a handful of tally sticks onto a table in the queen's chamber and bade me record them.

I had a small revenge—and in this case did not make an enemy by it—because while I was still cutting a quill (I had broken the old one after ruling off the old records from the new ones, which I headed with my name) one of his young assistants came in with a few more tally sticks. He seemed stunned to see me, but more amused than offended at a female scribe, and willing to explain the markings on the tally sticks for the pleasure of seeing me write—as if I were a dog walking on its hind legs. Thus when the chamberlain returned later to prove I was incompetent, he found a neat, clean record and was honest enough to praise my work although as he left me he still shook his head over what he considered an unnatural act.

The small victory raised my spirits enough to make me notice that a number of the great ladies, as well as the queen herself, were not in the best of tempers. Usually, the queen was a good mistress, too clever or perhaps, for I still did not know her very well, too truly good-natured to be unkind to her servants. However, I heard more than one whispered complaint that day about unreasonable demands and sharp words, and Edna told me while I was dressing for another feast and entertainment that one of the younger maids, who had carried in washing water last night after the king left, had hinted the queen had been crying and had been slapped by an older woman. That was when I began to wonder if at least part of my fear and anxiety was not owing to the work I had undertaken so unwillingly but was infecting me from the company around me.

I had my answer to that the next night. The queen had retired to her chamber and I was sadly allowing Edna to pack away the rich, red bedrobe I had made for Bruno. Audris had given me the cloth and silver and gold thread, and most of the work had been done at Jernaeve, but I had still needed to sew and embroider in every private minute I could snatch both at Ulle and on the road. Now twelfth night was over and I had given up hope that Bruno would come back when there was a knocking at the hall door and a minute later a grumpy door warden came and told me my husband wanted me and said I had leave to go with him.

I do not remember if I thanked him. I know I forgot all about the robe Edna was still holding in her arms. So eager was I that it was a miracle that I remembered to snatch my cloak from the top of my chest before I ran. Nor did I pause at the door to ask Bruno if he wished to come in but threw myself right into his arms before I realized how unseemly was my behavior. He kissed me warmly but then lifted his head and laughed.

“I feel that I hardly need to make the apology I had all ready,” he said, seeming unaware that I had begun to pull away and squeezing me tight against him.

“What apology? What have you done?” I hardly knew my voice, it was so thin with the jealousy that had seized me by the throat and choked me, but Bruno did not seem to notice that either and laughed again.

“I have found a room for us for the night—but it is in the whorehouse where our men are lodged.” One of our men was holding a torch nearby. I could see Bruno's face—full of merriment, it was—and I know he could see mine, which I suspect was not so merry. I am not sure he realized I was angry; perhaps he thought I was shocked, for he went on, still merrily, “Now, now, Melusine, no one could suspect you of wishing to use the women and I am not likely to complain about your coupling with the man who took you there.”

“You think that a fit place for me?” I cried, wrenching myself away from him.

There was an instant's pause, and then he said, “It is not a fit place for any woman but some have little choice.” He was no longer laughing. “I will make sure the way is cleared so that you need not see or speak to any of them.”

I had forgotten that his mother was a whore, and when the flatness of his voice reminded me, I was so filled with horror and remorse that I could not speak or move.

“I am sorry to have offended you,” he went on in that expressionless voice, “but I thought…no, it does not matter. It is not necessary to take you there. I can say briefly what must be said. I have been to Nottingham to tell the captains of the king's mercenaries to make ready to march north the day after tomorrow. The king will—”

“You are going to war?” I breathed. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” A hint of a wry smile curled up one corner of his mouth. “If you still desire to be rid of me, Melusine, you can pray for it.” He hesitated, but I could force no sound out and the little smile disappeared. “I will knock and get the doorwarden to let you in.”

Still unable to speak, I flung myself on him and held him away from the door. I could feel his head bend over me, but my face was buried and he could not see it. After a moment he said uncertainly, “We cannot stay out here in the cold much longer Melusine, and there is no place to go. Every hut and cot is filled. There are men sleeping between the horses' feet in the stables. I—”