The Black Lyon (15 page)

She watched M aude go to a wagon and carefully remove a wooden box.

"Come," she called over her shoulder. Curious, Lyonene followed, although she did not like the way .the woman assumed she would go wherever she called.

The cooking fire was hidden from the four tents of the men and Lyonene had wondered why, but she now felt it had been for secrecy's sake. The box was inlaid with hundreds of tiny pieces of mother of pearl and silver that glowed in the reflected firelight.

Almost with reverence, M aude lifted the lid and withdrew what seemed to be a garment of softly transparent silk. It was like a man's braies, only longer, with jeweled cuffs at a length that must be the ankle. About the wide waist was also a band of gold and sparkling jewels.

Another garment was brought forth, a gathered strip of silk whose function Lyonene could not guess. A jeweled vest came next, delicate, tiny, transparent. Then there were many veils, soft and alluring; Lyonene had never seen such silk. She knelt, tentatively touching the finery.

"It was my mother's and then mine. Now I have grown too fat to wear it."

"What is it and how could anyone wear such a garment? It would reveal more than it covered."

M aude's laughter escaped. "You are right—that is the purpose of a dancing costume." She watched Lyonene's puzzled eyes.

"M y mother was a Saracen, brought from the Holy Lands by my father. He fell in love one night while she danced in ... in a place there. He was a good man and cared naught that my mother had often ... danced." Her voice was strained.

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"He brought her back with him from the Crusade and he was good to her. I was not very old when he died, and overnight my mother turned into an old woman. Although she often danced for my father, after his death she never danced again. But she taught me the dance and gave me the silken clothes." She grinned at Lyonene. "I have not been so faithful as my mother to any of my husbands."

She stood up and bade Lyonene follow her example. A startled gasp escaped from Lyonene's lips as M aude roughly ran her hands over the younger woman's body.

"You will do," M aude stated. "Now remove those garments."

"I will not! I cannot imagine your reasons, but I will not remove my clothing."

Unperturbed, M aude continued. "How else do you expect to wear the clothes if you do not remove your others? It will not fit over them."

"I have no intention of wearing your dancing thing. The silk is nice but I do not intend to put it on."

M aude's voice sneered. "Do you think you are the only young girl brought on this trip to Wales? Have you not seen the other two who cast hungry eyes on Ranulf? They paid much to go on this journey and they did not pay with gold. So, you take my meaning? They know that Lord Ranulf sometimes chooses a young girl to pass the night in his tent on these journeys and they are willing to sell anything to get that privilege, for he is a gentle lover and pleases the women and afterward is very generous with his gold."

She watched as Lyonene looked anxiously in the direction of Ranulf s tent.

"There is no woman there tonight, but tell me of your feelings when one night you hear a woman's low laughter coming from that tent and then her cries of pleasure? Would you then be glad you shunned my mother's dancing silks? Could you be content to sit and listen to Ranulf's sighs as he ..."

"Cease!"

M aude smiled. "I thought as much. I will teach you the dance. It takes years to become expert, but these English soldiers are not taught to appreciate such a dance. M y Lord Ranulf will see you only in the dim candlelight."

Lyonene blanched. To wear that thing, and before a man! It was not thinkable.

M aude read her thoughts. "If you do not go to him, then you will need to listen to the other women's cries. Shall I describe what the last woman on the last journey told me of Lord Ranulfs bed?" She laughed as Lyonene covered her ears. "Then come with me and we will see how well you leam the dance."

With shaking fingers Lyonene began to remove her coarse woolen clothes as she stood before M aude, hidden among the trees.

When she stood completely nude, M aude turned her again and again to inspect her, while Lyonene clenched her teeth, resolving with each second to remove herself from the old woman's penetrating gaze.

"Good. Very good. It is hard to believe that once I had a body such as yours. Now we will dress you."

About her hips and between her legs went a jeweled belt, barely covering her. The transparent garment went over her legs, the gold bands tight around her slim ankles. She saw then why the waist was so wide, for it did not reach her waist at all but rested on the belt above her hips, far below her navel. The slim gathered strip of silk went about her breasts, tied behind her back. Lyonene's breath escaped her when M aude tied the fabric very tight, and she gasped when she saw that as a result of the taut fabric, her breasts strained and pushed and curved well above the silk, little of them concealed. The tiny vest only emphasized
the
curves of her breasts and the deep indentation of her waist, the hips that swelled above the sparkling belt.

Lyonene's embarrassment was brief, for the beautiful clothes gave her a strange feeling of sensuality, and she liked the feel of her long hair as it touched her bare arms and the back of her waist.

"Yes, yes," M aude trilled. "It has its effect on you. That silk is blessed with many nights of pleasure and it holds its memories."

In spite of herself, Lyonene could not erase the feeling of sensuality that the bare skin and silken costume gave her.

M aude brought a strange stringed instrument from behind a tree, and Lyonene listened as she played a foreign tune for a moment. Then, humming, she rose to

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begin sensuous movements, moving her hips and stomach in a slowly rotating motion. She nodded for Lyonene to follow her actions and was surprised at the ease with which she made the intricate movements.

"Good, yes, good," M aude murmured as she returned to her instrument. Lyonene closed her eyes and moved with the music. She heard little commands from M aude, so put that they seemed to blend with the music: "Bend your knees more. Now, slowly, yes.

Now, faster. I want to hear the bells."

Lyonene had been vaguely aware of the tinkling of little bells but now she realized that the sound came from her costume, that the bits of gold that covered the edges of the vest, belt and cuffs were hundreds of bells. The faster she moved, the more they gave out their sparkling little sound. It gave her a special delight to hear their sound, related as it was to her movements. The music became faster and the bells rang louder.

She could almost imagine Ranulfs eyes, dark and inscrutable, as they watched her. She felt a sense of defeat when the music stopped and M aude bade her remove the dancing costume.

"You have done well. Tomorrow I will tell my lord of a new dancing girl, and he will be pleased. But now you need rest, for you will be tired on the morn."

Still carrying the strange feeling of deflation, Lyonene went back to the camp to sleep near M aude under the clear stars. She was exhausted and slept heavily.

In the morning Lyonene's muscles were sore and every movement astride the little donkey hurt. She was glad for the pain, because it kept her from thinking about what she was doing.

* * *

Again they paused only a short time for dinner, and Lyonene was very aware of the other two women who constantly hovered about Ranulf. She could hear Corbel's voice as he made caustic remarks about the women and the way they flaunted themselves.

She still marveled at the demeanor of the Black Guard. She had never entered their Great Hall at M alvoisin, but at times she had seen women in the courtyard— quiet, well-dressed women—and knew they lived with the Black Guard. She wondered at the discipline of such men, so unlike what she had known as a child.

Nightfall brought more practice of the new dance learned from M aude. Lyonene liked the graceful movements and learned quickly. Later, she was tired and sank heavily into the straw mattress.

A slight sound woke her and she looked toward M aude, sleeping soundly near her. On instinct, she looked toward the great black tent and saw Ranulf, standing outside, clad only in a white linen loincloth. She turned on her stomach and feigned sleep when he glanced toward the noise. Her chin propped on her hands, she watched as he sat on a rock not far from her. The moonlight glowed on his bronzed skin, and she saw his shoulders droop, not so much from tiredness but from . . . mayhaps sadness.

She had a sudden urge to go to him, to clasp his head of tousled hair to her breast, to soothe him. He stood up, yawned and stretched, his back muscles standing out under the golden skin. She shivered slightly and pulled the rough blanket closer about her, for the idea of comforting him had fled from her and had been replaced by another, stronger emotion.

* * *

They began the journey again before the sun rose, and Lyonene nodded sleepily as she rode the little donkey. At dinner the two women were even bolder in then- pursuit of Ranulf. Angrily, Lyonene threw the iron cooking pot back into the wagon. Ranulfs voice halted her. He was still beneath the tree, but she felt his gaze on her. Quickly, her face deeply shadowed by the hood, she turned toward him only for an instant. M aude leaned toward him, talking quietly as her lips near touched his ear. Ranulf made no effort to move away from her and directed his gaze toward Lyonene as she secured the cooking items to the side of the wagon.

They were in truth talking of her!

The meal finished, Lyonene tried, subtly, to get M aude to tell her what she and Ranulf had spoken of but had no success.

M aude's laughter was infuriating, but Lyonene at least knew that Ranulf did not know his wife journeyed with him disguised as a serf.

They left the main road and traveled to a castle on the third night, and the thought of a roaring fire pleased Lyo-103

nene as they neared the stone walls and the donjon towering above.

They had just entered the bailey when a man came running toward them only half-dressed, in braies and a linen shirt that opened to show a hard, smooth chest. He was a handsome man, with blond hair, broad shoulders and slim hips. He ran to Ranulf with open arms and the two of them fell together, hugging and turning about, lifting one another from the ground.

"Ranulf, you grow more ugly every time I see you."

Lyonene opened her mouth to speak, but felt M aude's hand on her arm. It was not easy to remember to be a serf.

"And you, you are as weak as a girl. Weaker than some girls."

They hugged again, kissing one another's cheeks, and started toward the wooden steps leading to the second floor of the donjon, their arms entwined about one another's shoulders.

Lyonene impatiently waited as the Black Guard followed their master, and then she was allowed into the castle. Ranulf had taken a seat before the fire at one end of the hall. The other man stood beside another chair, leisurely dressing in clothes held by a servant.

"What news of M alvoisin? I heard some tales of you, but I gave them no credit."

"And what tales are these? I am sure they hold at least half-truths. Come, Dacre, sit here and do not spend so much time worrying about your beauty."

Dacre laughed and sat in the chair beside Ranulfs, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. "It is not for me to question the ways of our Lord, but at times I wonder that He gave you the look of a devil and the temper of an angel and me the body of an angel and the character of a devil."

Ranulf sipped the mug of hot wine. "There are many who would disagree on which is the devil body and which is the angel body."

Dacre's laughter roared. "So you do agree on who has the temper of an angel. I would have thought as much."

Neither man noticed the young serf girl who stayed so close to the back of their chairs. M aude thrust a large basket with a little broom and shovel in it at Lyonene and motioned for her to go and clean the hearth. She did not reason with M aude that it was not her duty as Ranulfs serf, but was glad to be able to hear the conversation between Dacre and her husband.

Dacre continued. "I would know the truth of one tale though—that you married, a young girl but poor."

Lyonene wanted much to turn and see Ranulfs face but busied herself with the hearth ashes.

"It is true," came Ranulfs quiet answer at last.

"And I heard she has some silly name for a lioness, named so at birth for her wide flat face, big nose, no lips ..."

"You heard wrong!"

Dacre laughed at the vehemence in his friend's voice. "Well, tell me of her then and what possessed a father to name a child after a lion."

Ranulf leaned back against the carved oak chair. His voice was quiet, as if coming from a great distance. "She has tawny hair the color of a lion's, a great thick mane of it. Green eyes that would put an emerald to shame, a tiny nose and a full, soft mouth. When she is angry, one eyebrow ..." He stopped abruptly and looked into his wine cup.

"Go on. You must tell me-more of this woman. What of the rest of her? Is she thick-waisted and what of her legs?"

"Dacre!" Ranulfs voice was angry. "You go too far. This is my wife of whom you speak. She is not a serving wench to be shared."

"I understand. She has legs the width of the Frisian's neck and a waist the size of yours. Had I such a wife I would not speak of her either."

"She is . . ." Ranulfs laughter came to Lyonene, a sound she had heard too seldom. "I will not rise to your bait. You must come to M alvoisin and see her."

"Or ask Corbet. I am sure he can give me a true opinion of this unknown wife of yours."

Ranulf frowned into his cup. "Corbet talks overmuch at times."