question based upon the meager information you have given me.”
Arzhela did not know whether to scowl or smile. In the end, she did both, and then sighed. “No, I do not suppose you can,” she agreed. “But I cannot tell you what you’d need to know to give me an honest answer. This friend of mine will be in grave danger if this accusation is made against him. I cannot be more specific, though.”
“Is the accusation true?”
“No, I do not think it is.”
“But you cannot be sure of that?”
She considered the question. “He is not a man overly burdened with scruples. I do not believe, though, that he is guilty of this charge.” With a wry smile, she said, “He is too clever to make a mistake of this magnitude.”
“Can you tell me anything about the other person involved, the one you said you ‘care for’?” He was not surprised when she shook her head, for he felt reasonably certain that Duchess Constance was the other player in this mysterious drama. “What, then, of the consequences, my lady? What happens if you warn your ‘friend’ of the danger? And what happens if you do not?”
Arzhela was quiet for several moments. “You are right,” she said at last. “That does clarify matters for me, for the scales do not balance. On the one hand, disappointment, and on the other, destruction.” Rising, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, dear friend. You’ve helped more than you know. Now I’ve taken up enough of your time. The provost has invited me to dine with him this evening. I hope to see you there, too. But for the love of God Everlasting, please do not let him include your favorite monk and mine!”
She did not wait for his response, blew him a playful kiss, and started up the walkway. She’d only taken a few steps before Brother Andrev jumped to his feet. “My lady, wait! There is something I must ask you, something I should have asked at the first. If you involve yourself in this, would you be putting yourself at risk?”
She looked at him for a moment, her expression grave, but amusement was shimmering in the depths of those beautiful blue-green eyes, and it was not long in spilling over into laughter. “I do hope so,” she said, “for life without risk would be like meat without salt!”
CHAPTER 2
December 1193
STALBANS, ENGLAND
The two men were loitering by the roadside with such suspicious intent that they at once drew Sarra’s attention. Turning in the saddle, she was relieved to see that Justin de Quincy had noticed them, too, and was already taking protective measures. Nudging his stallion toward the Lady Claudine’s mare, he carefully transferred the blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms to her embrace, and then opened his mantle to give himself quick access to the sword at his hip. As Sarra had hoped and Justin had expected, the mere sight of the weapon was enough to discourage any villainy the men had in mind. Tipping their caps with sardonic deference, they backed away from the road, prudently preferring to await easier prey.
Justin did not let down his guard, though, not until they’d reached the outskirts of St Albans. Only then did he dare to reclaim that precious cargo. The infant settled back into the crook of his arm with a soft sigh, and her contentment caught at his heart.
“We are almost there,” Sarra said quietly, giving him a sympathetic sideways glance as she tightened her hold upon her own baby.
Justin nodded, never taking his eyes from his daughter’s flower-petal little face. He said nothing, for what was there to say?
As soon as he heard the footsteps outside, Baldwin leaped to his feet. He flung the door open wide, his welcoming smile faltering at the sight of his sister. “Rohese!” Attempting to disguise his disappointment, he made a great fuss out of ushering her inside, seating her close to the hearth, and fetching her a cup of his best ale. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise,” he said heartily. “But where is Brian? Surely he did not let you make this trip on your own?”
“Of course not.” Her eyes no longer met his, though, as she explained that Brian had stopped by the local alehouse upon their arrival in town. “He had a great thirst after so many hours on the road…”
It was a weak excuse, feebly offered. But Baldwin bit back any comments, knowing from experience that an attack upon her husband would only spur her to his defense. A pity it was, but there was naught to be done about it. Baldwin liked his brother-by-marriage, in truth he did. Brian was a charmer, quick with a joke, always willing to offer a helping hand. He was never a nasty drunk, but a drunk he was, and Rohese alone refused to admit it.
“Where is Sarra?” she asked abruptly, eager to turn the conversation away from her missing husband. “And the bairns-never have I heard your house so quiet!”
“The children are with Sarra’s mother. Sarra… Sarra has been away for the past fortnight. She said she’d be back by the last week of Advent, so I hope she’ll get home today or tomorrow.”
He was not keen to explain his wife’s absence, but he knew he’d have to satisfy Rohese’s curiosity; no respectable wife and mother left her home and hearth unless her need was a strong one. And indeed, his sister blinked in surprise, at once wanting to know where Sarra had gone. He supposed he could lie and claim she was visiting an ailing aunt, but for what purpose? Sooner or later, the rest of the family would have to know.
“Sarra has agreed to be the wet nurse for a lady’s newborn.”
Rohese’s eyes widened. “Truly, Baldwin?” She knew that Sarra’s mother had been the wet nurse to King Richard in his infancy and her entire family had benefited greatly from it. Sarra’s brother Alexander not only enjoyed bragging rights as the king’s milk-brother, he had received an excellent education at St Albans and Paris. So she understood why Baldwin and Sarra might be tempted by such an opportunity. Yet there were drawbacks, too, in accepting so serious a trust.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Baldwin? I know Sarra would never agree to live in as her mother was required to do. But you’ll be taking a stranger’s child into your home, into your lives, for at least a year, mayhap two, until the babe is weaned.”
She did not mention the greatest deterrent to breast-nursing-that sexual intercourse was forbidden as long as the baby suckled. Since it was widely believed that breast-feeding prevented pregnancy and a highborn woman’s first duty was to provide her husband with heirs, women of the nobility hired wet nurses for their children. For those of lesser status or affluence, this was not possible, and their choices were unpalatable. A woman could sleep chastely in the marriage bed while she nursed her baby. Or her husband could refrain from spilling his seed within her body; “thresh within and winnow without,” as Rohese’s Brian cheerfully put it. But this practice was a mortal sin in the eyes of the Holy Church. Most couples chose the lesser sin and yielded to the temptations of the flesh. If a nursing mother then became pregnant, it was just God’s Will.
A wet nurse did not dare take such a risk, though. All knew that mother’s milk was purified blood. This made conception during nursing dangerous to the nursing baby, for a pregnant woman’s good blood would be needed to nurture the child within her womb, leaving only her impure blood to feed the child at her breast. Moreover, pregnancy would soon dry up her milk, impure or not, and she would no longer be of use to her highborn employer.
Rohese did not think she had the right to lecture, though, for Baldwin was her elder brother. She contented herself with repeating, “You are sure?”
“Yes,” he said, not sounding all that convinced. He was quiet for some moments, watching as flames licked the hearth log. “We could hardly say no, not when the queen was the one doing the asking. She sent for Sarra’s mother, told Hodierna that she needed a wet nurse she could trust, a woman who was healthy, between twenty- five and thirty-five, willing to forswear spicy and sour foods whilst nursing, and above all, discreet.”
Rohese had straightened on her stool at the first mention of the queen. It all made sense now. Understandably eager to please Eleanor, Hodierna must have mentioned that her youngest daughter was nursing her own babe. “No,” she agreed, “you could hardly turn down the Queen of England.” Her eyes shining, she leaned forward, patting Baldwin’s knee. “This is so exciting, Baldwin! For the queen to take a hand, surely the babe must be of high birth. You think… could it be her son John’s?”
