“You are not a bachelor by choice?”
“No, m’lady. I well remember the companionship shared at my parents’ hall. I would find the same, but it has eluded me. A solitary life among men and their books holds no attraction.”
“You dislike books?” she laughed.
“Not so…but no book will warm a bed of a cold night, nor share my joy and woe.”
“Well said, Master Hugh. It is your intent, then, to marry?”
“Aye, should the right lady appear, and she be willing.”
“Might the proper lady be unwilling, you think?” she asked.
“I’ve not found a lady yet, willing or unwilling, so how can I know?”
“How will you recognize this lady?”
“I cannot tell. Until she be known to me, I know not.”
“Are you certain?” Lady Joan smiled. “Perhaps she is known to you and you mistake yourself.”
“Perhaps. Does love smite a man suddenly, or does it grow slowly, as a vine upon an oak?”
“I have seen men smitten of something all a-sudden,” Lady Joan observed.
“Aye. Whatever that is which smites a man has battered me on occasion. But I think ’tis not love.”
“Oh? What, then may this be? When did this last occur?”
My face felt warm, but I answered her. “I think, m’lady, it is desire which so attacks a man.”
“And when did this fiend last assault you, Master Hugh?”
I stood, took two paces toward the door, then turned and told her truthfully, “When I last entered this room, m’lady.”
I walked quickly to the door and escape, but as I approached it swung open and a servant appeared behind an armload of wood.
We startled each other, and he dropped his burden. On my toes. I jumped back in pain and surprise and might have cursed but remembered the presence of a lady.
“Pardon, Master Hugh,” John stammered. “Didn’t know as you was there. You’re all right, then?”
I assured him my toes remained serviceable and helped him gather the scattered logs. While I collected wood I stole a glance at Lady Joan. She grinned at me behind an uplifted hand, and when she saw me peek in her direction, she fluttered her fingers. And then — I am sure of this, though the time was late and the day grew dim — she blew a kiss.
I escaped through the great hall, where Lord Gilbert’s valets were erecting trestle tables for supper. I had lost my appetite. I should say I had lost my appetite for food. Nevertheless, I met Lady Joan again an hour later when a horn announced the evening meal.
Since my arrival four days earlier I had been assigned a place at the high table beside Sir John Withington. This was an honor. I was the only layman placed there. My seat was at the far left of the table. On the far right, beyond her brother and next to Lord Gilbert’s chaplain, sat Lady Joan.
Some lords use every meal as an opportunity to display their plenty. Not so Lord Gilbert, who, as I have related, could be parsimonious. His dinner table was as lavish as any other, but he thought supper should be a lighter meal. This was acceptable to me that day in particular; my stomach was churning, for reasons you will understand.
I sat before the trencher assigned to me, and washed my hands when servants brought pitcher and towel. Sir John had suffered no event that day to reduce his hunger, so sliced off a large chunk of bread when loaves and butter were brought to the table.
I remember the meal well. Even now, so long after, it is as if I could sit at the table and relive each course. The first dish was a pea soup; hot, to warm a man on a cold winter eve. The second remove was likewise simple; a dish of squabs and eels. The eels were caught fresh in the River Severn and brought to Goodrich that day. I saw the barrels unloaded from a cart that afternoon. There was ale, of course, and cheese, and to conclude, a dish of baked apples and pears freely sprinkled with spices from Lord Gilbert’s cellar. At the conclusion of the meal, valets brought goblets of hypocras to us who sat at the high table. Others in the hall, the commons and the poor (who had received no squab, either), had more ale poured into their earthen cups.
During the meal I had opportunity to turn in conversation to Sir John, who sat to my right. When I could do so without his notice, I peered beyond him, past Lady Petronilla and Lord Gilbert, to Lady Joan, who plucked with dainty fingers at her squab.
It seemed to me that each time I stole a glance at her she was aware of it, and lifted her eyes to mine. How she could feel my gaze I cannot tell, for when I bent round Sir John to view her, I never found her already engaged at looking in my direction. She always caught my eyes on her, rather than the other way round. How she contrived to do this I know not. I think it an intuition of the female sex — to know when a man’s eyes have fallen on them.
The diners departed the hall when the meal was done, the commons to the east range hall or the huts in the castle yard. We who sat at the high table made our way to the solar, where a great fire had been laid in the fireplace. Lord Gilbert and Sir John fell to conversation about some unrest on the Welsh border. There is always unrest on the Welsh border. It provides ample topic for discourse if no other offers. An outlaw, or patriot, depending on whether one was English or Welsh, was vexing the country to the west of Abergavenny. I listened, half awake, staring into the fire, until Lady Joan addressed me.
“Master Hugh, do scholars from Oxford learn chess?”
“They do, m’lady…some better than others.”
“I should like to know how well you were taught. Will you give me a match?”
Chess is a man’s diversion. But I was trapped. How could I deny her? I agreed. Lord Gilbert looked up from his conversation with furrowed brow as we began.
She defeated me in the first match. I would go on the attack, about to seize a bishop or rook, when she would find a chink in my defense and capture my attacker.
“’Tis an admirable flaw in a man,” she observed after vanquishing me, “to be aggressive in pursuit of a goal. We women, being weak, must always look to our defenses. Would you not agree, Master Hugh?”
I agreed. I would have even had I thought her in error. But she spoke truth, and, I thought, imparted a message. I hoped so.
I won the second match. She seemed close to victory twice, but each time I was able to salvage my position with adroit moves. Whether they were my adroit moves, or hers, I know not. It may be that she allowed me to win.
I thanked Lady Joan for the entertainment and stood to retire. But before I could depart she asked if I thought it not wise to inspect her injured hand and arm once again before withdrawing. I agreed, and we approached the fire, where the blaze would allow more light on her hand. We stood nearly inside the great fireplace. Its warmth was intoxicating. Or was it the nearness of Lady Joan? I know not.
She held her wounded arm out in its sling and I took her hand for a careful and perhaps overlong examination. I was pleased to see that what redness was there seemed more a product of the glow of the fire than any toxin. I held her fingers for this close inspection, but when I had finished she would not be released.
“You will call on me tomorrow? To again measure my recovery?”
“Aye, m’lady…at the third hour, as today, if so be that is well with you.”
“Very well, Master Hugh.” I felt her gently squeeze my fingers before she dropped her hand. I turned to watch her as she summoned her maid and left the solar.
My eyes followed her form as she faded into the darkened south end of the solar. While my eyes followed her, Lord Gilbert’s eyes followed me. I turned from the south door to the settle where he sat with Sir John and saw that, while he listened to Sir John, he observed me.
I nodded and approached. When Sir John finished his point, I spoke: “M’lady’s hurt does better, m’lord. I was troubled yesterday…even this morning. But now I think the toxin recedes and we may expect good progress.”
“You have been diligent,” he said with that eyebrow in upraised position, “in observing your patient.”
“It is my duty, and a service to which I am obligated.”
“Yes. Onerous, no doubt, but you will perform it nonetheless.”
“No, m’lord. Lady Joan is not a troublesome patient.”
“No. I have observed. She is troublesome in another fashion.”
And with that remark Lord Gilbert turned back to the fire and his conversation with Sir John. I bid him
