So Speaks the Heart (4 page)

D
ruoda of Gascony lounged on a long green couch in her new chambers, eating dried grapes and drinking their nectar in sweet wine. It was late afternoon, and, although the winter had been mild thus far, Druoda was used to the warmer climate of southern France, and she insisted on a brazier of hot coals to warm her room.

At Druoda's feet knelt Hildegard, preparing her mistress's nails for painting, another of many practices Druoda had learned from the carefree women of the south. It was not so very long ago that both women had been strangers to luxury. Only recently they had catered to travelers, working day and night laundering other people's travel-stained garments and cooking. This deplorable labor had been necessary, for Druoda's father had left her nothing. Her husband, Walafrid, possessed a large house, but had no money to maintain it. So they had turned the house into a hostelry, hiring Hildegard to help.

Thanks to the death of Druoda's nephew, Quintin, their days of hard work were over. It had been a calculated risk, assuming guardianship of Brigitte de Louroux and keeping the news of the Baron's death from his liege lord. Druoda gloated over hav
ing rid herself of the only person who might tell Count Arnulf of the Baron's death. Hugh had returned to the south coast on Druoda's orders to verify Quintin's death. Druoda did not really need the verification, but she needed time, and waiting for Hugh and Quintin's vassals to return with Quintin's possessions was giving her the time she needed to marry Brigitte without Count Arnulf's interference.

If there was a betrothal before the Count knew of Quintin's death, then there would be no need to appoint the girl a guardian, for she would have a husband. It only remained to keep the lady from crying to the Count, and that could be arranged by simply keeping them apart. Once the wedding took place, the Count would not step in and try to run things. No, he would leave the estate to Brigitte's lawful husband, who would be controlled by Druoda.

The husband, ah, that had been the most difficult part! Finding a man who wanted Lady Brigitte enough to agree to Druoda's demands had been Druoda's greatest challenge. She had a long list of possibilities, a list obtained from the servants, for Brigitte had been asked for many times over the years. Druoda believed she had finally found the right man in Wilhelm, lord of Arsnay. He had come to ask for the lady two times in recent years, but Thomas and Quintin had refused his request, for they would never have considered giving their precious Brigitte to a man older than her father, and a man with Wilhelm's unsavory reputation.

Lord Wilhelm was perfect for Druoda's plans. A man who seldom left Arsnay, who would not come often to Louroux to inspect his wife's estate, a man who wanted a beautiful young virgin so much he
was willing to give Walafrid free reign at Louroux was just the thing. The old fool thought only a virgin bride could give him the son he so desperately wanted. It was not Brigitte herself he wanted, though he was delighted with her beauty. It was her innocence he demanded. And what other young woman would have such an old husband? Lord Wilhelm was also Count Arnulf's vassal, so the Count would not question Druoda's choice.

Druoda lay back and sighed with satisfaction. Wilhelm was the answer to Druoda's plans, and she was extremely pleased with herself, for only last night she had concluded the arrangements with him. Wilhelm was so smitten that he would no doubt pamper Brigitte. And after a year or so, Brigitte would have a most unfortunate accident, for it would not do for her to outlive Wilhelm and be in a position to threaten all Druoda had worked for. Druoda had gotten rid of Mavis with perfect ease, and she would get rid of Brigitte. Brigitte would die, Wilhelm would be Lord of Louroux and Walafrid still seneschal, and Druoda would always rule Louroux.

“When will you tell her, Druoda?”

Hildegard's question brought a smile to Druoda's round, pasty face. “This evening, after Brigitte is weary from working the whole day long.”

“Why are you so sure she will agree? Even I would not care to marry Wilhelm d'Arsnay.”

“Nonsense,” Druoda scoffed. “He may be a little ill-favored in appearance and have peculiar notions about virgins and sons, but he is a man of wealth. And do not forget the lady has no choice.” Hildegard looked at her mistress doubtfully, and Druoda
laughed. “Let her protest. She can do nothing about this marriage.”

“And if she runs away?”

“I have employed two ruffians who will guard her until the ceremony. I brought them back with me last night.”

“You have thought of everything,” her servant said admiringly.

Druoda nodded grimly. “I have had to.”

Druoda had been cursed with the square shape of her father, and a moon face also like his, whereas her sister, Leonie, had been blessed with their mother's looks. Druoda always envied Leonie her beauty, and when she made such a fine marriage with the Baron of Louroux, Druoda's envy turned immediately to hate for her sister and her sister's husband. Now that Leonie and her husband were dead, that hate found a focus in Brigitte.

Now Druoda would have what Leonie had once had. She did not have such a fine husband, however, for Walafrid was a poor example of a man. But that suited Druoda. She had a strong will and could not have borne any man's domination. At the age of forty-three, she would finally have what had been denied her all her life. With Brigitte safely married and out of her way, Louroux would be hers to rule, and she would be a grand lady, a lady of wealth and influence.

 

Late that evening Brigitte was summoned to Druoda's spacious chamber, the room that had once belonged to her parents. The large wood-frame bed was now draped in gaudy red silk, and ornate lounges had been added to the room. The long wardrobes
were filled with the many rich tunics and mantles that Druoda had ordered made. Wooden tables had been replaced with bronze, and candelabra of pure gold adorned many of them.

Brigitte hated the room as it was, filled with Druoda's extravagances. Druoda reclined on her couch with a queenly air, her coarse, heavy body clothed in no fewer than three linen tunics of varying colors and lengths. Small emeralds had been sewn onto the cuffs of the wide sleeves of the outer gown. These gems were rarer than diamonds and cost a fortune. Druoda's girdle was also studded with emeralds, as was the gold ornament she wore in her elaborately curled dark brown hair. No doubt Hildegard had used a vexing iron.

Brigitte had worked the entire day at weeding the manor garden. The chore had always before been given to three or four serfs as part of the labors owed their lord, yet she had done it all alone. And she had also bottled the winter's herbs. She was exhausted and cramped with hunger pangs, for she had been told not to stop working until she was finished, and she had only just finished. Yet there was Druoda with a feast laid out on the table before her. There was more food than even Druoda could possibly eat, succulent pig, several creamed vegetables, breads, fruits, and sweet cakes.

“I would like to retire, Druoda.” Brigitte spoke after a few minutes had passed in silence. “So if you will tell me why I am here—”

“Yes, I imagine you are tired and hungry,” Druoda said casually, as she stuffed another sweet cake into her mouth. “Tell me, girl, do you feel you are being
overworked? But no, you must not think so, for you never complain.”

“Druoda, if you would tell me why you have summoned me,” Brigitte said tiredly.

“I think your stubbornness has gone far enough, do you not agree?” Druoda did not wait for an answer. “Of course you do. Forget this foolishness about a nunnery. I have wonderful news, Brigitte.” Druoda smiled.

“What news?”

Druoda's lips turned down at the corners. “Your attitude toward me has not been all I might have desired. Nevertheless, out of the goodness of my heart I have arranged a splendid marriage for you.”

Brigitte was speechless. She had told Druoda several times that she would not marry yet.

“Well, girl? Have you nothing to say?”

“I had no idea you could be so generous, Druoda,” said Brigitte, managing a tone that could not quite be taken for sarcasm.

“I knew you would be grateful, and justifiably so, for your betrothed is a man of importance, and you will be happy to know that he also is vassal to your liege, Count Arnulf, so that good man will surely not refuse him. Yes, my dear child, you are truly fortunate.”

Brigitte still held her temper in check, though her light blue eyes sparkled dangerously.

“And what of my mourning period? How dare you try to marry me off when I am still in mourning for my brother?”

“Your betrothed is eager for this union and will not be put off. On the morrow we will go to his manor
to celebrate your betrothal. I trust you can be suitably attired and ready to leave by midday?”

Brigitte hesitated. To leave the manor, perhaps even to travel toward Arnulf's castle!

“I can be ready,” Brigitte said calmly, adding, “but you have not told me his name.”

Druoda smiled with great delight. “Your betrothed is Lord Wilhelm d'Arsnay.”

Brigitte gasped. Druoda watched gleefully as the color drained from her face.

“You are overcome by your good fortune,” Druoda said smoothly.

“Lord Wilhelm!”

“A fine man.”

“He is a fat, lecherous, loathsome, disgusting pig!” Brigitte cried, caution gone. “I would rather die than marry him!”

Druoda laughed. “Such a temper! First you choose a nunnery, and now it's death over dishonor!”

“I mean what I say, Druoda!”

“Then I suppose you will have to kill yourself,” Druoda sighed. “Poor Wilhelm will be so disappointed.”

“I do not have to marry him just because you have arranged it. I will leave here if you insist on it. I do not care what befalls me on the road, for it cannot be worse than marrying the most repulsive man in all of Berry.”

“I am afraid that is out of the question. You do not think I would let you come to harm on the road, do you? I have given my word on this marriage, and it will take place.”

Brigitte drew herself up, trying desperately to control herself. “You cannot force me to wed that
loathsome man, Druoda. You forget one important factor. Whether he is your choice or not, Count Arnulf is still my lord, and he must approve the match. He would never give me to Wilhelm d'Arsnay, vassal or not.”

“You think not?”

“I know he will not!”

“You underestimate me, girl.” Druoda growled, all pretense gone now. She leaned forward, toward her prey. “The Count will give his consent, because he will think this match is what
you
desire. It is not uncommon for a young woman to choose an old man for her husband, for she is sure to outlive him and will someday have the freedom of widowhood. And you, my girl, with your willfullness, would desire that freedom. Count Arnulf will believe that you desire this match.”

“I will tell him otherwise, even if I must do so on my wedding day!”

Druoda slapped her hard then, viciously and with pleasure. “There will be no more outbursts, Brigitte. You will be wed when Count Arnulf is unable to attend your wedding. If you defy me, I will be forced to take harsh measures. A good beating might instill proper respect. Now get out of here. Get out!”

B
rigitte was awakened after only a few hours sleep. Before she was even fully awake she was informed by a smug Hildegard that she would be moved back into her old chamber later that day. How typical of Druoda to allow her to return now, only to prepare to meet her betrothed.

Brigitte spent most of an hour in a large tub, soothing some of the stiffness from her body. But nothing could be done for the roughness of her hands, the broken and chipped nails, evidence of months of toil.

After her bath, she went to her clothes wardrobe. Only two respectable garments were left to her. A smaller chest was inside the larger one, but the costly jewelry it had once contained had disappeared. A spiked comb and a steel looking glass were all that remained of what had once been a fabulous array of jewels. Looking beneath a pile of cotton garments, Brigitte withdrew two tunics of fine blue linen, embroidered with silver threads. The longer tunic was sleeveless, to be worn beneath the shorter outer tunic, which had long, wide sleeves. The outer gown was, she was astonished to see, inlaid with rare sapphires all over the bodice. The gown had been a gift from
her father just before he died. The long mantle that was made for these gowns was fringed with silver cord and matched her undergarment, and was clasped with a large sapphire. Why had the jewels not been removed?

Brigitte could only imagine that this ensemble had been overlooked when she moved to the servants' huts. Why else was she still in possession of such costly gems? Like emeralds, sapphires were rarer than diamonds or pearls. The sapphires might even buy her freedom.

At a little after dawn, a horse was brought around to the front of the manor house for Brigitte. She was dressed in her blue gowns, the fringed mantle clasped at her throat, looking much like her former self. She looked beautiful and even defiant, her golden hair braided into two long plaits falling over her shoulders to her waist.

Druoda was mounted and waiting. Also present were two burly men whom Brigitte had never seen before. She was offered no introductions or explanations before Druoda led the way through the gate in the stone wall surrounding the manor. The two men rode on either side of Brigitte.

It was not until hours later, when they came within a mile of Lord Wilhelm's domain and Druoda slowed enough that Brigitte could ask about the two men, that her suspicions were confirmed.

“They are here to guard you,” Druoda informed her curtly. They will see to it that you do not disappear before your marriage ceremony.”

Brigitte was frantic. How could she escape if she was continually guarded?

The rest of the day was no less dismal. They spent
the afternoon with Lord Wilhelm and his obese daughter. Wilhelm was a grossly fat man, much older than Brigitte's father, with thin tufts of grey hair circling his head. He was ugly, with a red and bulbous nose and beady black eyes that never left Brigitte until the banquet was served.

They dined in the great hall, a barren room except for the trellis tables and the armor which adorned the bleak stone walls. Brigitte could not touch any of the food, and her stomach churned as she watched the others stuff themselves. Druoda was in fine company, among fellow gluttons.

Rare jellyfish and spiced sea urchins were served first and quickly devoured. The main course, broiled ostrich with sweet sauce, turtle dove, mutton, and boiled ham, went just as quickly. Cakes and stuffed dates fried in honey were served last, and were accompanied by wine spiced with myrrh. A banquet customarily took hours, but this one did not last more than one hour.

After the banquet Brigitte feared that she would become sick when she was forced to watch the entertainment Wilhelm had planned, the baiting of a tame dog against a wolf. Brigitte loved animals and was frequently upset by such displays.

She ran from the hall to the courtyard and took deep breaths, grateful to be away from the others. But her relief was short-lived, for Wilhelm's daughter followed her and said abruptly, “I am mistress of this house and shall always be. You will be the fourth child bride my father has brought home, and if you think you can take over here, you will end as the others did—dead.”

Too shaken to reply, Brigitte stumbled away from
her. They soon left Wilhelm's house, and Brigitte stammered her good-byes through a blur of tears.

Tears still blurred her vision as they rode off toward home. Brigitte's guards were close by. How could she ride to Count Arnulf if they would not let her out of their sight? she wondered.

But what really did she have to lose if she made a desperate attempt to reach Arnulf? Suddenly she wiped at her eyes angrily and dug her heels into her horse. For several moments, she and her mare flew from the others. But her guards had been expecting this, and they caught up with her quickly, before she passed the last cobbled hut in Wilhelm's village.

They brought her back to where Druoda waited, and Brigitte was met by a blow that took her unawares and knocked her off her horse. She fell into the mud, the breath knocked from her. It brought her rage to the point of explosion, but she did not vent her anger on Druoda. She kept it under control, and as far as Druoda could see, Brigitte was beaten. She wiped at the mud on her face and allowed herself to be handed roughly back up onto her mare.

Brigitte simmered silently. She waited patiently for her companions to relax their guard, careful always to ride slumped in her saddle and give every impression of submissiveness. But Brigitte was feeling far from submissive.

So engrossed in thought was she that she was not aware it had grown dark until the chill of night stung her cheeks. She quickly raised the hood of her mantle and pulled it closer over her head. While doing so, she studied her companions furtively and saw that only Druoda was riding close to her. The guards had
gone a short way ahead of the women in order to protect them from night raiders.

This was her chance. With night upon them, she could hide in the dark. She would never be as close to Count Arnulf as she was now. Gathering her reins in a tight fist and moving closer to Druoda, she used them to whip Druoda's mare, sending the horse charging into the guards, while Brigitte spun about and galloped off in the opposite direction.

This time she was able to put a good distance between herself and the guards before they gave pursuit. A half mile down the road she slowed and turned off into the woods, the shadows there black as pitch and perfect for concealment. She quickly slid off her mare and began walking her horse slowly through the dark maze. A few moments later she heard the guards race past her on the old track road.

She knew the forest, for she had traveled it often with her parents when they visited Count Arnulf. On the other side of the woods there was a wider road, the old road between Orleans and Bourges, and that route would take her to Arnulf. She had only to get through the forest. However, that was no small feat.

As her fear of Druoda's guards lessened, the frightening sounds of the forest began to assault her, and Brigitte remembered Leandor's dire warnings about thieves and murderers, groups of brigands who lived in forests. She quickened her pace till she was nearly running, and suddenly she burst through the woods into a clearing. Panic seized her. She looked around frantically, expecting to see a fire with men surrounding it. She gasped with relief, for it was not
a clearing she stood in but the road—she had made it to the road!

She drew back into the shadows and hastily shed her gown and tunic, all but an old woolen tunic next to her skin. She then wrapped her other gowns around her waist. Thin as they were, they were not too bulky. She put her mantle back on but did not clasp it, so that if she came upon anyone she could remove it quickly and be left in peasant's garb.

She mounted again and rode south, exhilarated, feeling free. There would be no wedding to Wilhelm. And there would be no more Druoda, for Arnulf would not take kindly to her once Brigitte told him what she had been doing at Louroux. Brigitte felt almost giddy as her sturdy mare quickly put mile after mile behind them. Nothing could stop her now.

But suddenly something did. Her horse stopped and reared up, and for the second time that day Brigitte found herself on the ground, trying to breathe. She scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, fearing her horse would bolt. But the mare stood still, and as Brigitte moved closer, she saw why.

“And what have we here?”

The knight sat ramrod straight on his destrier, a horse larger than any Brigitte had ever seen. The knight was himself quite large, probably six feet tall, even taller. He wore full armor and was a most impressive sight. He removed his helmet and revealed a thick shock of blond hair which fell just below his neck, a style too short for a Frenchman. Brigitte could not see his features clearly.

“Well, wench?”

His deep voice broke through her surprise. “Is that
all you can say, Sir Knight, after you have unseated a lady?”

“A lady, is it?”

Too late, Brigitte remembered her worn peasant's tunic. She decided to say nothing further. Remounting her horse as quickly as she could, she tried to pull the leather reins from his grip. But she could not, for he wouldn't let them out of his iron grasp.

“How dare you?” Brigitte demanded. “Is it not enough you cause my horse to throw me? Now you detain me as well?” He laughed, and she said haughtily, “What is so amusing?”

“You would have me think you a lady, with your haughty airs, but you are not,” the knight said derisively. Then he continued, “A lady, alone, without an escort?”

Brigitte's mind whirled, but before she could select a reply, he said, “Come along.”

“Wait!” Brigitte cried as he turned her horse around and began to pull it along after his. “Stop!” He appeared not to have heard and she glared at his back in fury. “Where are you taking me?”

“I will take you where I am bound, and others can then return you to your master. I am sure he will be glad to have his horse back, if not his serf.”

“You think me a serf?”

“Your mount is too fine for a village wench,” he continued. “And even a lord pleased with your favors would not bestow on a serf such a costly garment as the mantle you are wearing.”

“The mantle is mine, as is the horse!”

“Your cunning is wasted on me, damosel,” he said smoothly. “I care not what you say.”

“Let me go.”

“No. You have stolen, and I cannot abet a thief.” he said harshly, then added, “Were you a man, I would as soon run you through as waste my time returning you. Do not test me further with lies.”

Well, all was not lost, Brigitte thought. Wherever he took her, they would surely know her, and then this ignoble knight would find out what mistake he had made. Somehow, she would at least get a message to Count Arnulf.

An hour passed and then another before he left the road and took them in the direction of Louroux. Brigitte began to be truly frightened.

To be taken right back to Druoda—she could not stand it anymore. She would never get another chance to escape if she failed this time.

Brigitte slid quietly off the horse and dashed frantically into a nearby copse of trees. She tripped and fell, scraping her palms and the side of her face on the rough ground. Her cheek burned, and tears sprang to her eyes. She got up and ran, but he was behind her and reached her before she could enter the forest again.

Standing next to her, the knight was an awesome sight, every bit as large as she had first thought. How she hated this man!

Brigitte spat, “Who are you? I want to know your name, for some day I will make you pay for what you have done to me!”

“And what have I done to you?”

“You bring me to Louroux!”

“Ah! So that is it. It is from Louroux that you are fleeing.” He laughed.

Brigitte stiffened. “And are you pleased that I will suffer because of you?”

“I do not care,” He shrugged. “My business here is with the lady of Louroux.”

“What is your business with Druoda?” she asked, assuming that Druoda was the lady to whom he referred.

“Nothing to concern you, wench,” he answered disdainfully.

“You have yet to tell me your name,” she reminded him. “Or do you fear to give it to me?”

“Fear you, woman?” He was incredulous. “If I am ever addled enough to let a wench do me harm, then it's no more than I deserve. Rowland of Montville, at your service,” he mocked.

When he pushed her back toward her horse, panic seized her. She turned and braced her small hands against his chest. “Please, Sir Rowland of Montville, do not take me to Louroux. Druoda will have me locked up.”

“Locked up? You deserve a beating for thievery. The lady is merciful if she only locks you up.”

“I tell you I stole nothing!”

“Lies!” he thundered. “Enough! My patience is gone!”

He took her reins, and they continued the short distance to Louroux. It was Hildegard who met them in the torchlit courtyard, and her eyes lit up at the sight of Brigitte and the tall knight.

“Will you not learn, girl? My lady has been more than fair with you, but this time I fear you will pay for your foolishness. You had best wait for her in your chamber.”

“Which chamber, Hildegard?” Brigitte asked caustically. “My old one, or my recent hovel? Do not
answer. I will go to the hovel, for I will no doubt end there before the night is through.”

Rowland shook his head as he watched Brigitte walk proudly across the court to a short row of servants' huts and enter one. “By the saints,” he sighed in disbelief. “I have never met such an insolent serf.”

“What?” Hildegard looked from the hut to him in confusion.

Rowland laughed derisively. “She tried to tell me she was a lady. But I was not so easily fooled. The wench should be punished not only for thievery, but for audacity as well. If she belonged to me, I swear she would not be so haughty.”

Hildegard held her tongue. It was clear that the knight thought Lady Brigitte no more than a runaway serf!