Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

“Aye, my lord, quite well.” She nodded to Sir Guy and to the dozen men-at-arms who sat at another trestle table, staring at her with open curiosity. She did not see Stephen or any of her father’s men.

“Stephen, my lord?”

“He has already broken his fast, my lady,” Sir Guy said, “and is seeing to the supplies for his return to Brittany.”

“He . . . he plans to leave soon?” She turned wide, questioning eyes upon her husband.

“I will tell him when he is to leave,” Graelam said. He rose and it took all of Kassia’s resolution not to cower. Which was foolish, she scolded herself silently. He had been naught but kind to her, but he was so large, so forbidding, her skittering thoughts continued. “You will eat now, Kassia,” he said to her. “I must see to the Duke of Cornwall. He also wishes to depart today. Guy, take the men to the training field. With all the festivities, they have grown fat and lazy.”

He strode out of the hall without a backward glance, leaving her to the mercy of utter strangers. Guy did not want to leave the shy girl, but he had no choice. He motioned to the men, smiled once again at Kassia, and left the hall.

Kassia slipped into the smaller chair next to her husband’s. She glanced at the crusts of bread and the pale unripened cheese and shuddered.

“ ’Tis not suited to ye, my lady?”

Kassia tensed at the barely veiled insolence in the serving girl’s voice. For a moment she was totally bereft of speech. The girl was young, as young as she, and quite pretty, as rounded and plump as Kassia was thin. And, Kassia thought on a silent sigh, her hair was thick and long, flowing down her back.

“What is your name?” she asked quietly.

“Nan, my lady.”

Kassia suddenly remembered a serving wench who had remained but three days at Belleterre. She had insulted Kassia, thinking the twelve-year-old girl too young to retaliate. Kassia now smiled at the memory. “Nan,” she said, “I would like a glass of fresh milk and three slices of freshly baked bread. As for this cheese, you may eat it yourself, or feed it to the pigs.”

Nan stared at the little upstart. She was smiling sweetly, but there had been a tone of command in her voice that made Nan start.

“There are cows to be milked, are there not?”

“Aye,” Nan said, her eyes narrowing. “But there’s no more bread, not until this afternoon.”

“Fetch me the milk and I will see to the baking of bread myself.” Kassia nodded dismissal to the girl, praying silently to herself that she would obey her. To her relief, the girl, after shooting her a venomous look, flounced away. Kassia forced herself to eat the cold bread left by her husband. She was aware of at least a dozen servants skulking about the hall, all wanting a glimpse of her, she supposed. Her housekeeper’s eyes took in the reeds scattered

haphazardly over the stone floor. They were not filthy, at least they didn’t offend her nose, and that was probably because of the wedding guests at Wolffeton. But they were dull, and there were no sweet-smelling herbs. She ran her hand over the table. It was badly gouged, old and battered, and this was the master’s table! She shook her head, shocked at the lack of care. The wood beams overhead were black with years of smoke and soot, making the hall even darker than necessary, and there was a feeling of damp and cold. Two old-fashioned lavers stood near her table. They had seen no polish in years, she thought. She wanted to set the servants to work immediately, but it was her husband’s face that stilled her tongue. He was the master here. Until he gave her permission to attend to his keep, she would be wise to keep her mouth shut. She closed her eyes a moment, wondering if her husband would indeed keep her. Annulment. He could set her aside, he had told her that himself, unless the marriage was consummated. She could not prevent the shudder at the thought. She was ignorant, but not stupid or blind. She had seen animals mate and knew that somehow men did much the same thing to women. But she had never seen a naked man, and thus was uncertain just how they accomplished the sex act. If mares could tolerate it, she thought, so could she. And, she realized, she must tolerate it to save Belleterre from Geoffrey. She became aware of the serving wench, Nan, standing at her elbow, and she flushed, wondering if the girl could see the terrifying thoughts in her eyes.

“Yer milk, my lady,” Nan said. She set the goblet in front of Kassia, none too gently, and some of the warm milk sloshed onto the table.

Kassia felt a spurt of raw anger, and she wanted to slap the insolent girl, or, she thought, personally plunge her smirking face into a pile of dung. There was probably a lot of that around! She was saved from a decision by the appearance of her husband, accompanied by an older, fierce-looking man, the Duke of Cornwall, she supposed. She turned to dismiss Nan, when she saw the girl’s eyes resting possessively and intimately upon Lord Graelam. Ah, she thought with no particular emotion, so that was why the girl was surly and insolent. She smiled and rose, curtsying deeply to the older man.

Graelam said calmly, “My lord duke, this is Lady Kassia, my wife.”

The Duke of Cornwall felt a tug of surprise. The slight little creature standing so resolutely before him, her large eyes fastened upon his face, bore little resemblance to the dirty urchin who had so insolently forced her way into the hall the day before. She was a lovely girl, and had an air of great sweetness about her. And uncertainty.

He felt a tug of protectiveness that surprised him. He was too old to be such a fool. But nonetheless he said in a very gentle voice, “Lord Graelam is blessed in his bride, my lady. Allow me to welcome you to England.”

“Thank you, my lord duke,” Kassia said. “Even in Brittany, your name is much revered. My father used to tell me that you should have been the King of England, for you are brave and decisive, and fair to all your people.”

The duke laughed. “It is God who decides these matters, my lady,” but nonetheless, Graelam saw him preening at her praise. He wasn’t certain whether to be annoyed at her flattery or pleased.

“My father also says that our own king, the sainted Louis, was too much in God’s service. That God should have released him to rule his people.”

“And what do you believe, my lady?”

“I, my lord duke? It is my belief that there is quite enough misery and injustice at home to keep the most sainted of men well-occupied.”

“Well, my lord,” the duke said to Graelam. “Perhaps it is your wife who can convince Edward to return to take his throne. I will remember your words, my lady, when next I write my nephew.”

Kassia flushed at his kind words, and said quickly, “There is but bread and cheese to offer you, and fresh milk.”

Graelam frowned. It was a miserable offering to the king’s uncle! “Nan,” he roared. “Bring food for the duke!”