The Devil's Diadem Read online

  ‘You are a member of the Pengraic household,’ the countess said, her tone firm. ‘That alone carries a weight of more import than any wealth of coin or land. An alliance into the Pengraic house is no small matter —’

  I wondered what the earl might have to say about this. I doubted he would ever think I wielded any measure of influence within his house.

  ‘— and I am sure that some gentle lord shall seek your hand eagerly. You have a lovely face. Such depth in your green eyes — and that black, black hair! As for your figure — that alone is enough to tempt any man into thoughts of bedding. You shall not remain unwedded long.’

  I flushed at her words, but was immeasurably grateful to the countess for her support. Where her husband had been contemptuous, his lady wife extended the hand of graciousness and care. I was privileged indeed, and more fortunate than I could have hoped to have been offered this place at Lady Adelie’s side.

  ‘You are old not to be wived,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’

  ‘Nineteen, my lady.’

  ‘Ah! At nineteen I already had three children born.’ Lady Adelie sighed, one hand resting on her belly. ‘Stephen I bore when I was but fifteen — the earl only a year older. Such young parents. Ah, Maeb, the lot of a wife is a hard one, but you must bear it. The travails of childbirth litter our lives with danger, and we must keep our faith in the Lord, that we may survive them.’

  ‘You have so many beautiful children, my lady. They must bring you great comfort.’

  ‘The earl is a demanding husband,’ the countess said, her face twisting in a small grimace. ‘Although I fear the dangers of childbed I am grateful each time I find myself breeding, that my husband can no longer make such demands of me.’

  I kept my eyes downcast, setting my fingers back to stitching, thinking of the whispered fragments of conversations I had heard over the years from women gossiping about their husbands and lovers (and of what I had seen as a curious child in the village of Witenie). Most of these women had spoken in bawdy tones and words, and I thought the countess must truly be a devout and gracious woman, of exquisite breeding and manners, to find distasteful what other women found delightful.

  ‘The earl is so demanding …’ the countess said again, her voice drifting off, and the look on her face made me think she feared him.

  I did not blame her. I feared him, too, and I could not imagine what her life must be like, needing to watch her every word in the company of a man with so uncertain a temper.

  ‘Evelyn has spoken little of Pengraic Castle,’ I said, mostly to distract the countess from whatever thoughts troubled her. ‘What is it like?’

  The countess stilled, and I was instantly sorry for my question.

  ‘It is a dark place,’ she said, ‘but I must bear it, as must you.’

  I opened my mouth, thinking to apologise for my error in asking such a question, but the countess continued.

  ‘It is a dismal place, Maeb. Ungodly, and wrapped all about with the mists and sleet of the dark Welsh mountains. The people … the people of that land care more for their sprites and fairies and tales of the ancient ones than they do for the saints and our sweet, dear Lord Jesu. I swear even the stones of Pengraic Castle are steeped in the ungodliness of those Welsh hills.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lady,’ I said. Sorry to have caused her greater distress, sorry that I should need to endure both the Welsh Marches and this castle myself, some day.

  ‘Sorrow’s claws have firm grasp on Pengraic Castle, Maeb. But what do we here, speaking of such when the sun burns bright and the apple blossoms? Come, here are Evelyn and Yvette returned, and a servant with cooling cordials, and we shall drink and gossip as women do, and be merry.’

  And so we did, our words and smiles chasing away the shadows cast by the final minutes of the conversation between the countess and myself. The sun burned, and it was a good day. Peaceful and gentle, with the scents of spring all about us.

  It did not last. The morrow brought with it terrible tidings that meant my days at Rosseley Manor were done.

  I would never see it again, in all my days. That was my enduring loss, for Rosseley was a lovely, peaceful place. Even though I spent so little time there, it holds a special place in my heart. Every May Day, when we celebrate the return of life to the land, I think of Rosseley’s sweet meadows and orchards, and light a candle in remembrance of a gentle life that almost was.

  Chapter Four

  The next day began as had all my previous mornings at Rosseley. Evelyn and I rose early, washed and dressed, then attended Lady Adelie. We made the countess’ bed while Mistress Yvette helped the countess with her chemise and kirtle, then we knelt at prayers before breaking our fast with small beer and fruit and cheese with some fresh-baked bread. Evelyn and I then rose, meaning to help the nurse dress the younger children, when Ancel and Robert burst into the chamber.

  ‘Mama! Mama!’ they cried.

  ‘Sweet Jesu, children, cease your shrieking!’ the countess said. She was out of sorts after a restless night, and Evelyn and I exchanged a glance before turning to the two boys, now at one of the windows, meaning to usher them from the chamber.

  ‘Mama!’ one of the twins said. ‘Our lord father is home. Look! Look!’

  ‘And at the head of a great cavalcade!’ the other added.

  I started for the window, but Evelyn grabbed my elbow, pulling me back with a warning look. Then she tipped her head very slightly toward the countess, who had risen and walked sedately toward the window herself.

  Of course. I gave a small nod, and berated myself for my stupidity.

  It was not my place to be first at the window, but that of the countess.

  Lady Adelie stood at the window and peered. Then she took a step back, clearly shocked. ‘Mother of heaven!’ she said.

  ‘My lady?’ Yvette said, going to stand with her.

  ‘Fetch the house steward immediately!’ Lady Adelie said to her, then beckoned Evelyn over. ‘Ah! Why did I pick such a dull kirtle today? Well, there is no time to change. Evelyn, fetch me a freshly laundered veil and ensure you pick the brightest one. Maeb, make sure the children are dressed and neat, and keep them in their chambers for the time being, even Alice. Ancel, Robert, you can come with me and aid me down the staircase.’

  With that she was gone, a twin on either side of her, Evelyn hastening after with a fresh veil for my lady’s head.

  I looked toward the window, desperately curious, hesitated, then, remembering my lady’s tone, hurried to see the children were dressed and awaiting in their chamber.

  At least the children’s chamber had a window that overlooked the courtyard. Almost as soon as I and the nurse had the children dressed and neat, Alice and Emmette helping, I looked outside.

  The courtyard was a flurry of activity. I could see Lady Adelie, Yvette now at her side along with the twins, and the steward, William. Lady Adelie and William were in deep conversation and, as I watched, the steward nodded, then strode away organising some men-at-arms into a presentable line and shouting at two grooms to tidy away some barrels and a laden cart.

  Lady Adelie now had her fresh veil, and Mistress Yvette spent a moment fixing it securely to her hair.

  Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘What is going on?’ I said, as I turned to look at the nurse and Alice, who now stood by me. ‘Is it always thus when the earl returns?’

  Both shook their heads.

  ‘There is always some ceremony,’ Alice said. ‘My mother likes to greet him in the courtyard together with the steward — but not this fuss. Maybe she is merely surprised by the suddenness of his return. I don’t know.’

  ‘It is far more than the suddenness of the earl’s return,’ said Evelyn, who had just stepped into the chamber.

  She joined us at the window, the four of us standing close so we might all have a view.

  ‘Then what —’ I began, stopping at the sound of clattering hooves.

  Sud
denly the courtyard was filled with horses and their riders and a score of hounds. There were men everywhere, horses jostling and snorting, and the newly arrived hounds barking and snapping at the resident dogs. Whatever order Lady Adelie and the steward had managed to arrange was instantly undone by the press of bodies and the raising of voices.

  ‘The horses are lathered and stumbling,’ the nurse remarked. ‘They have been ridden hard and fast.’

  ‘All the way from the king’s court,’ Evelyn murmured.

  I glanced at her, a dozen questions on my lips, but then Alice nudged me. ‘Look,’ she said.

  Somehow a small circle of calm had emerged in the heart of the chaos. I saw the earl dismounting from his horse, and stepping forth to the countess. They took each other’s hands in a light grip, perfunctorily kissed, then the earl and the countess turned to another man, recently dismounted.

  He was in dull garb, unlike the earl who shone in azures and vermilions, and I could not understand why the earl and the countess turned to him. Why did Lady Adelie not greet her son, Stephen, now also dismounted and standing close to his parents?

  ‘Who —’ I began yet once more, stopping in amazement as I saw Lady Adelie sink in deep courtesy before this other man, the earl having to take her elbow to support her as she almost slipped on the cobbles.

  Behind her, the twin boys bowed deep in courtly fashion. ‘The king,’ Evelyn said. ‘Edmond.’

  The chaos of the courtyard rapidly spread throughout the entire house. Hounds ran up and down the great staircase, snapping and growling as servants and men-at-arms hurried this way and that. As I stood just inside the door of the children’s chamber, watching, I saw William the steward hastening to and fro, barking orders, having bedding rearranged and taken from this chamber to that to accommodate the influx of a score or more men, while stools and benches, trestles and boards, were hurried into the great hall below me.

  The earl was home and with a king to entertain.

  ‘What should we do?’ I said to Evelyn.

  ‘Remain here,’ she said. ‘Lady Adelie will send when she requires us, and I think we’d do best at keeping the children out from under this hubbub. Poor Rosamund and John would be crushed if they ventured beyond the confines of this chamber!’

  At that very moment, John, who had recently learned to toddle, managed to slip between both of our legs and totter toward the dangerous mayhem on the staircase.

  ‘John!’ Evelyn and I cried at the same time, bending down to reach for him.

  He tried to evade us, gurgling with laughter, and only after a small scramble did we manage to retrieve him and stand upright again, John now safely in my arms.

  I felt Evelyn go rigid, and I looked up.

  The earl and the king were standing not half a dozen feet away, on the last rise of the staircase before they would step onto the wooden planks of the flooring.

  Both were looking right at us.

  I managed to register that the earl was furious, and that the king had an expression of some amusement on his face, before I dropped my eyes and sank down into the deepest courtesy I could manage.

  My heart was pounding, and I couldn’t think. I was terrified, not merely of the earl, but of the fact that not a few feet away stood the King of England.

  Naturally, in such a state I compounded both my terror and my utter mortification by slipping just as I reached the lowest depths of my courtesy and thumping onto my bottom with an ungracious thud.

  I was trying hard not to let John drop (could I manage to deepen my mortification? Yes, I could, if I sent John rolling away toward the king’s feet), and from my bottom I slid onto a shoulder with a hard thump, making me cry out in pain.

  Out of the corner of one eye I saw Evelyn bending down to snatch John from my hands and, as she raised him up, another hand appeared before my face.

  ‘Take it,’ a quiet voice said, and I did, and allowed the king to help me to my feet.

  I couldn’t look at him. I hung my head in misery, appalled that I could have so embarrassed the earl before the king.

  And humiliate myself before the both of them.

  Sweet Jesu, perhaps even little John would remember this all the days of his life, and chortle over my misery to his children.

  ‘It is no indignity to save a child from harm,’ the king said, and I finally raised my eyes to his face. I did not think it remarkable and was surprised that a king could look so like an ordinary man. He was olive-skinned, with dark wiry hair cropped close to his skull over a strong face. His eyes were brown, and surprisingly warm, and his sensual mouth curved in a soft smile. I supposed he was of an age with the earl, and from my youthful perspective, that seemed very old indeed.

  ‘Your name?’ he said.

  ‘Mistress Maeb Langtofte,’ the earl said in a flat voice, coming to stand at the king’s shoulder. ‘Recently joined my house to serve Adelie.’

  ‘Then allow me to apologise for having upset your day, Mistress Maeb,’ Edmond said. ‘It has been most discourteous of me.’

  I thought he must be laughing at me, but there was no malice in his eyes, only that shining, compelling warmth.

  I could not speak, still too awed and humiliated. I realised Edmond continued to hold my hand and I tried to pull it away.

  He held on to it a moment too long. It would not have been noticeable to anyone else, but both he and I knew it. Something in his eyes changed, just briefly, and then Edmond gave a small nod and he and the earl turned away and walked into the solar.

  Evelyn, John still in her arms, and I stepped back into the chamber. Evelyn closed the door and I burst into tears.

  I think my tears humiliated me almost as much as my foolishness before the king and earl. I hated to weep and show weakness, but at that moment everything was too overwhelming for me to do anything else.

  I would not ever be able to show my face again within the household. The earl would despise me, and Lady Adelie too, and it was her contempt that I feared the most. Maybe life in a nunnery might not be so bad after all … surely I would be better suited to it than a noble household. I could not ever show my face again. I …

  Evelyn, having handed John to the nurse, wrapped her arms about me and hugged me close.

  ‘Come, come,’ she teased, ‘did you really need to throw yourself at the king’s feet in such a fashion?’

  I began to laugh, even as I was crying, and after a few moments Evelyn dried my tears, and I straightened my back and determined that I would stay out of sight of the king lest my treacherous legs threaten to wobble me to the floor again.

  Chapter Five

  Naturally, fate and Lady Adelie conspired to make me break my promise within the hour.

  Mistress Yvette arrived in the chamber, all bustle and busyness, and said that the countess wished Evelyn and myself to bring the children to greet their father and the king. I sent one frantic look to Evelyn, but she was no help, having turned away to speak with Alice and Emmette, so I swallowed my nerves, settled John on one hip — Sweet Jesu let me not drop him — and took Rosamund by the hand.

  She was a sweet girl and gave me a happy smile, and I reminded myself that all I needed to do was escort the children into the solar, perhaps hand John to his mother, then step back and wait silently in the shadows.

  Ancel and Robert were back with us by this stage, and Evelyn took them in hand, straightening their tunics and hair, and positioning them on either side of her, one hand on each boy’s shoulder as if that might actually restrain them.

  So, with Mistress Yvette leading the way, we progressed toward the solar.

  Two men-at-arms stood either side of the closed door. They were weaponed and wary, and as good an indication, if any were needed, that they protected someone of immeasurable worth beyond the door. I did not know them, nor did their stern faces relieve my nerves. Mistress Yvette looked at them, then nodded back at us. One of the men relaxed enough to stand down from his guard and open the door into the chamber.

&
nbsp; We filed in and I kept myself as far as I could in Mistress Yvette’s shadow. Evelyn caught my eye, giving a small smile of reassurance.

  I was surprised at how uncrowded it was. I had expected the same bustle and chaos in the solar as was in evidence everywhere else, but there was only a group seated in chairs and benches about one of the open windows.

  Light spilled in the window and over the group, and I had to blink in order to make them out.

  There was Edmond, seated in the imposing chair that was normally the earl’s.

  Pengraic sat next to him, leaning close as they murmured quietly.

  Lady Adelie sat on a chair opposite them. She was packed about with pillows and cushions, and I thought she looked weary.

  Beside her sat Stephen, his hair gleaming in the sunshine, leaning in to the service of his mother as the earl did to the king. Two other men — great nobles by their dress — completed the circle; I soon learned they were Walter de Roche, Earl of Summersete, and Gilbert de Montgomerie, Earl of Scersberie, and a Marcher Lord like Pengraic.

  Lady Adelie noticed us first, and, as she gave a smile, so Stephen turned.

  He noticed me immediately as I hid behind Mistress Yvette, almost as if he’d been looking, and gave an imperceptible nod.

  ‘Ah, my children,’ Pengraic said, and then they were all looking at us, and I tried to shuffle even further behind Mistress Yvette.

  To no avail. Both the earl and the king looked directly at me, no doubt reliving my earlier humiliation. I glanced at Lady Adelie and saw that her face was sympathetic.

  They had told her then, yet she did not condemn me.

  The older children, Alice, Emmette and the twins, dipped or bowed before the king, then Pengraic beckoned Alice forward a step.

  ‘Gilbert,’ the earl said, ‘this is my daughter Alice.’

  Alice dimpled prettily at the closer of the two noblemen, and curtsied again. I looked at the gleam of interest in the nobleman’s eyes, and wondered if Pengraic was arranging a match between Alice and this man — the Earl of Scersberie. Scersberie was an old man, older even than Pengraic, and I thought it likely Alice was to replace a wife lost to the ravages of childbirth.