Chapter 28: Meeting in the Meadow
Margaret had walked through the gates of King's Leigh erect and bedraggled. No one had given her a glance as she made her way through the streets alone; in her dusty dress, which hung loose and was tattered about the hem, she looked but another serving-maid in her lady's castoff.
The wheel spokes of the streets led to the palace, Caer Leighame, at its center. The closer she approached it, the more conspicuous she began to feel, although she had several times ridden high along the King's Road, dressed and jeweled so finely. Some nobility whom she recognized had passed her without a glance, children running after, calling and playing, even as they had called and played after her as she rode beside knights.
God had brought her there. Not in the way she had hoped, for there had been no recourse or rescue for her along the way, the manors being shut up tight to all comers with their lords at war and their ladies sent to the walled cities. She had parted ways with the Bowens, whom she had come to love, four days before, when they had decided to remain in a village where their relatives had plenty of food. They had begged her to wait but a few weeks, when they would be settled in and could accompany her. But she was frantic to go on. She had left at Lauds bells, leaving her golden necklace draped over Rossignol's sleeping form.
She never failed to get a piece of bread, or a pallet to sleep on, or a bowl of wash water, at the door to a church with the other refugees with whom she walked; but had not the heart to explain herself or her journey. She only wished to find her husband. She carried tired children, preached encouragement to the weary, shared her borrowed blankets with shivering old women. She drew into herself; it was as if God was saying this to her: "Trust only in Me." And He had provided.
Now she sat at the edge of a fountain in a small square in the avenue. She washed her face and hands, and tried to see her reflection in the water. She wished she had the courage to sit and comb her hair in public. She prayed, nearly dizzy with hunger, her eyes closing. She stood, finally, unsure where her brother's house was located. Caer Leighame was straight ahead. She rose, licked her chapped lips and walked on.
She approached a sentry by the arched gate and stood before him. "I have a message for Queen Liona Rovehill, from her niece, Lady Margaret of Brycelands." She curtsied elegantly as she said so.
The sentry was obviously puzzled. Messages did not normally come from bareheaded women on foot who had evidently come a long way. Yet it was also clear that her manner was not as a commoner. Margaret barely saw him signal with his head, but another man came from the blockhouse and asked her to repeat her message. As she did so, yet another man approached and listened to her. "Is not Lady Margaret of Brycelands she that was abducted, and lost in the wilderness?" he asked the first man.
"It is I, as I live. I have walked here from the eastern Wilds. I wish to see Queen Liona, for she is my aunt."
The men stepped away and conferred amongst themselves. Margaret was standing in the sun, and felt woozy from the brilliance of it. Then they returned. The second man said, "My lady, might I see your hands?"
Margaret held out her palms. Across her right was the silky, livid scar. Staring at it, inexplicably, her eyes began to weep, and she dropped her eyes to hide it.
"Come, my lady. We will speak more inside." The small door in the gate through which he had come was opened and she was taken inside. She waited in a guardroom. For a long time she slumped on the bench, feeling forgotten. At last, footsteps approached and she rose. It was the second man again, who had introduced himself as Squire Eben. "The Queen will see you in Open Court, which has just begun. Come, my lady."
Margaret went forward, mortified, but she was too worn out to think of what to say. She was ushered through halls familiar to her but which she now saw with different eyes, having seen only dusty roads and strangers' kindnesses now for seven, eight days? She wasn't even sure of that. The gleaming grandeur of the palace interior did not seem possible. Into the illustrious Hall she limped in her filthy, hanging garments, her travel-worn boots, lacking ornament or headdress on her tangled hair, into the perfumed silken company. The Queen Liona herself, a strikingly handsome woman, sat on the edge of her throne, dominating the room, crowned and powdered and sparkling with diamonds. Before the dais Margaret sank into the deepest curtsey, her eyes swimming with ghosts for a moment when she stood again, the jewel-like colors around her in dizzying contrast to the drab fields and dusty paths she had walked for days.
"Who is this creature before me? Come, tell us your name, for we can see that you are a lady," said Liona, gesturing dramatically.
Margaret was puzzled, for she saw recognition in her aunt's eyes. "Your Majesty, I am Lady Margaret of Brycelands in Cynrose, daughter of Lord Gregory Aldene, of Briardene." Murmuring astonishment filled the Hall. "I beg your mercy to overlook my filthy appearance in your court, my Queen; for I have walked from the eastern Wilds where I was separated from my abductors, who captured me in Deermont in Cynrose...a fortnight and more ago." The shining people all began to talk at once.
The Queen rose, rustling with skirts, from her seat and took a step down toward Margaret. Her eyes were two fires, fixed upon her. "The Margaret of whom you speak bore a mark in her hands. Show us your hands." Margaret spread her trembling hands upward toward the Queen, who hardly glanced at them but grasped the right, holding it high so that the scar could be seen by all.
"This is without any doubt my own niece, Lady Margaret, daughter of the Duke of Briardene! Carried away without mercy by the cruelty of the Bradmeads, she has escaped their clutches!" There was an uproar in the court. "Let us praise the bravery of the bonnie lady, whom God has brought far, in cold and rain! Welcome home, daughter, to your own people, and may the abuse against you be avenged!" The uproar changed to a rumbling. The Queen drew close enough to kiss the air by each of Margaret's cheeks, and eyed a chamberlain, who sent forth two of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting to draw Margaret away, while she continued her speech with upraised arms. Margaret was appalled, but too tired and weak to find words as she was taken by the women from the now roaring hall-- who were all those people, already bursting into a martial anthem?-- to the gentle heaven of a bath and a bed with linens in a warm and polished room. Her garments were taken away, to be disposed of; but for the gossamer elf-robe she wore next to her skin. With wonder, Margaret saw that it was white though she had lived and slept in it across Ardinéa. She insisted it be washed and returned to her.
When she awoke, it was early morning of the next day. She could hardly take in the luxurious feeling of the fine, linen sheets and the embroidered silken shift against her clean skin. The sun poured in between creweled drapes. Today there would be no endless walking on blistered feet, no freezing wind on her neck, no standing at crossroads praying to know which way to go and that no man would accost her; no inner battle with self-pity and discouragement. She cried with relief then flipped herself out of the bed to her knees to pray and to thank God.
A covered dish by the bedstead held fruit, bread and butter, hazel nuts, and a small bowl of creamy milk. It seemed an unfathomable luxury to eat to fullness of sweet things, spreading the butter with a gleaming silver knife and wiping the crumbs on a satiny napkin, the beams of sun through glass windows sparkling on the crystal goblet.
There was a mirror over the washstand. Margaret saw herself clearly for the first time in a fortnight, sun-browned and windburnt, her lips cracked and pale. Her face was thin. Bilious-colored shadows remained of the bruise on her forehead. And with a shock she saw white hairs straggling from her crown among the brown.
There was a soft rapping at her door. "Yes, who is there?"
"Margaret, are you awake?" Margaret recognized Hildreth's voice and flung open the door, pulling Hildreth in and embracing her.
"Ah, Hildreth, Hildreth, so good it is to see you! Is it well with you? How was your journey?"
"A nightmare, beginning to end;" she said, waving her hand dismissively, "but we came t
hrough, my brave little maidens and I. We were treated tolerably well, especially after Givson arrived at Denisham to send us back. But what of you, Maggie! How is it you got away from them?"
Margaret recapitulated her journey as they sat on the bed. She told her sister all and left nothing out. There was unquestioned trust in Hildreth's eyes, even as she heard the unbelievable.
Hildreth told her that Gilling the Troubadour had left word on his way through King's Leigh that both Ryanh and Hildreth's baby daughter were in the Abbey Saint Savior's, and that his own family were well.
"I have money here in King's Leigh. How much will you need? What will you do?"
"Hil, I have no idea where Tamlyn is--"
Hildreth held up a hand. "He should be returning today from the wars in the south. The Vallards have been expelled from the land, and you should hear how Clewode has put the Fiefs in their place. Of course, the Queen is not too happy with his having made peace without her involvement. But there he was, right down in Bradmouth with the whole Ardinéan legion-- he could have squashed them flat! How could he let an opportunity like that go? Anyway, Tamlyn is safe, my own husband and our father and brother are all returning."
Margaret sank onto the bed. "I don't know how I am going to live with a warrior. How do you face the days Herrick is gone, knowing that he may never return?"
"I knew he was a knight when I wed him, and so you knew Tamlyn, did you not? Rejoice, for you will see him this day, perhaps! And ere I forget, Una, go ask the butleress if she can send up the cobbler and the jeweler. My shoes will never fit your troll feet, and you need something shiny against that nut-brown skin."
"What I wish for, is a horse. I can't wait for shoes, I'll have to have my old boots cleaned."
A serving-girl came in and laid down a long bundle on the foot of the bed: Hildreth had brought some of her own gowns for Margaret, and while they talked, the maid helped her dress. Lacings up the back of the dress were tightened, but still the dress was not snug, the way Hildreth would have worn it. Hildreth had even brought a sewing kit and Margaret had to stand on a stool while the maid and Hildreth, seated on the thick rug, hemmed them up, for Hildreth was half a head taller, and the dress dragged long on Margaret. Then they started on her hair. Finally, gowned and coifed, she looked in the mirror. She laughed, "I look like a milkmaid in a silken gown."
"Nothing new there," quipped Hildreth, and Margaret playfully hit her arm.
Ramsaidh emerged from an inn but a few leagues from King's Leigh. When he had left his home, the leaves had just begun to flutter from the trees; now it was coming on pig-slaughtering time. Lord Givson had promised Ramsaidh his knighting before Advent: so much for that. Well, finally his promise would be made good this afternoon, and then...He still knew not what the future held, it depended on what the drowned woman's husband would do.
He could throw me in a dungeon, and never look back. And I would well deserve it. At least his lady gave me pardon before the River took her.
His mind avoided the future by straying to the past. He had pawned his brooch and buckler, and any other obvious marks of his coat-of-arms, and stayed in the types of places that didn't ask too many questions. Four days ago he had left the maid Willa at her lady's home, in Brycelands. Feeling he had nothing to lose, he had declared his love for her, and his despair in knowing that they could never be together. She had stood, pale and silent, her eyes filling with tears. Finally she had taken his hand and shaken it in both of hers, her slender hands lost in his. "Though you and I are each alone in this world, may it be bearable, knowing that you and I share in the same. Go with God, Squire Ramsaidh," was all she said, but her eyes and voice said much more. But not the one thing he had longed to hear, and he had immediately realized how foolish his hopes had been. If he had admired her great dignity and self-restraint before it was hardly fair of him to expect her to drop them now.
But then, just as he turned to go, she allowed him to fold his arms around her; she sighed against him. How he had lived for that brief embrace! And how he hated his life, without the maiden, how dreary were his travels in the strange autumnal country. He rode out on Wintauk, toward King's Leigh, but he would bypass the famous city and take the road up which, if the news was accurate, the triumphant army would be returning. Tonight, God willing, he would be dead, in prison, or... God only knew what. He had lived with the vague dread so many days it would be a relief whatever it was to be.
Margaret was nearly ready to go and waited only for her boots to be returned from the cobbler. He had almost screamed in protest when he saw them, but she reassured him that she only needed them until he could bring her a finished pair of new shoes. Still complaining, he had had his servant carry them off. She was glad of the distraction when the jeweler came, for she was stuck in the room without shoes to wear. Hildreth picked out earrings, bracelets and so on, but Margaret was becoming too worked up to pay much attention. The Queen sent greetings and regretted that she was too busy to look in on Margaret that day.
Margaret was treated like an invalid and a meal was sent to the room. There was far too much food for one person, but Hildreth wanted to return to her children rather than stay and eat with her. So she was alone for some time, staring out the window and pacing barefoot around the small room. Who would have thought that a want of shoes could be such a frustration, after what she had come through, it seemed so petty.
She was ready to go to the stables barefooted, when she heard a group in the hall approaching, and there was a rapping at the door. She opened the door. Lady Rivanone burst into the room, still in her riding clothes, with Ryanh in her arms. Margaret burst into tears, overwhelmed with delight, pressing the infant to her face. Her sister Varda, and Rivanone's daughter Brinn and her twins Justan and Gyvard piled into the room, everyone crying out and reaching out and chattering at once.
Gilling rode next to Grace, at last hearing her story out. "So you ran away from the abbey, with no place to go? What did you think you would do?"
"Exactly as I did."
"Where did you get the boy's clothes?"
She hung her head and mumbled. "I took them from a bleaching-field. But I left my good linen shift and woolen habit," she added quickly.
"And where would a boy pawn a nun's garments?" Grace looked at a loss, then defiance hardened her features.
"I was sent to Saint Savior's against my will. I was got rid of. I didn't belong there. You see, I love God, and I pestered my parents about it, I admit it. They saw me as too pious to be marriageable, and sent me and my dowry to Saint Savior's. But just because I love God doesn't mean I want to live in a cloister, with everyone else that does! I want to be where people can hear the message He has given me!"
"And what message would that be?"
"To turn, and believe the good news, that God has sent a Savior into the world to redeem us sinners."
Gilling chuckled. Lord, where do you find these people?
"You believe it, I know you do; I have seen you at prayers. What would you do in my place?"
Gilling shook his head. "It's a different kind of world, for a man. Lassie, I didn't belong walled up either when I was a lad...But you are welcome to join my family until you know what it is you will do. That is, after you have returned those garments, and explained yourself to Mother Abbess."
Ramsaidh rode slowly by the great bridge that led into King's Leigh, gazing over the silvery water of the Briar River at its white turreted walls. There was ivy creeping up in many places, and much traffic flowing in and out of the main gate. He could sense the festivity in the air. Any other time he would have wanted to go in and see the beautiful city, but turned himself away. He passed the city by and headed south.
The sun was beginning to lower in the sky when he spotted the glint of mail and pennants on the horizon. He sat waiting for a while and watched the growing mass of humanity approaching.
It was well after the noon meal when Hildreth returned, plunging in to the crowded room wit
h her daughters, just as Margaret was lacing up the cleaned boots. They had been oiled and polished and given new thongs and soles and were quite presentable. Ryanh had fallen asleep in her arms and lay on the bed, oblivious to the noise. Margaret's heart broke to be leaving him, but couldn't see moving him from the bed, when he had been traveling himself for six days. The wetnurse Rivanone had brought would have to stay; Hildreth's baby and her wetnurse also remained in the room. She fairly ran, pulling Rivanone's arm along to the carriage-gate where horses had been readied. Rivanone, Hildreth, Margaret, Varda, and their children and retainers, issued forth from Caer Leighame happily into the sun. Hildreth had even brought Margaret a hat for the sun, "Not that it'll help at this point," Hildreth had said. The day was cold despite the sun, and once they left the shelter of the city walls to cross the bridge over the Briar, Margaret could smell winter in the fresh wind.
There were crowds of people riding and walking out along the King's Road; the high and the low, the rich and poor, mendicants and harlots, farmers and artists were going out to meet the legion whose arrival the couriers had forewarned. There was a jubilee in the air, and the women caught the tone and sang sweet and loud the songs they heard along the way, but difficult as it is to sing while trotting horses, there was much laughter as well. They crossed the rise beyond which the plain opened south, and they cried in delight as the army was already drawing near; from here they could pick out a few pennants already. The crowd had thickened around them and the excitement was boundless. They slowed to a walk for the sake of the many women and children on foot. Plowed fields had given way to pasture and the crowd flooded over the edge of the narrow, cobbled road and spread over the rolling meadows. Now the approach of the army could be distinctly heard over the crowd noise. The men were singing, and even began to rattle their weapons for noise. Pipes keened victory songs and bodhrans kept time. Margaret's group moved off the road a distance to watch for their pennants. They had to yell at the top of their lungs to converse now.
Commander Clewode was in the center of the vanguard, his enormous horse caparisoned and his banners high. Just behind his group, Margaret spied Coltram: and an empty space in his group. Where was Tamlyn?
Squire Ramsaidh had seen the Brycelands coat of arms and ridden up next to Tamlyn's group. By yelling and by hand signals he conveyed over the cacophony that he wanted to talk with Tamlyn. Tamlyn's heart leaped and he immediately broke ranks and rode to the shoulder. But there was no being heard there, either. The two men, frustrated, rode up the hill a short distance. To Tamlyn's consternation, the man dismounted, ungirding his sword belt and laying his weapons on the ground. Agitated, Tamlyn dismounted so that he could hear the man's speech.
Margaret cast about, and suddenly spotted Tamlyn leaving the road and riding away into the grass on the other side. She cried out and kicked her horse toward him, and sat waiting at the roadside for an opening in the procession to cross the road, while the borrowed pony tried to join the parade.
Over the song of a thousand voices, his eyes on the ground before him, Ramsaidh stated his name, and that it had been he who had taken the Lady Margaret into the wilderness. "And where is she now, man?" Tamlyn said, leaning over the kneeling man. "Speak up, will you?" Tamlyn tried in vain to swallow his drumming heart. But the man's voice and eyes dropped and he was talking about riding through the wilderness, deciding to return the maids instead to Ardinéa, when…
Margaret found her opening and plunged the mare through the flooding throng to the other side and up the hill, wild with joy, to where her husband stood among the waving grasses, holding the reins of his dancing palfrey, the sun sparkling on his golden locks and glowing in his white linen shirt and fawn woolen hauberk. A man knelt before him, and looked up at her approach: it was Ramsaidh. His mouth and eyes popped wide open and all color drained from his face.
Tamlyn turned to see her. He caught her in his arms as she jumped from her pony into the waving grass.