Thwarted Queen Part 8

Jenet helped take off my everyday blue linen and I slipped into a dusky rose silk worn over a pale green chemise. I studied my jewel case, deciding on pearls to go with the pink silk while Jenet tidied my hair and rearranged my headdress. By the time Jenet had finished dressing me, the other ladies were ready. Lisette was vivid in red, Bess's dress of the deepest green set off her green eyes and chestnut hair, Margaret wore heavy purple damask, and Isabel wore sky-blue silk.

The shower had cooled off the thundery weather. Outside, a light breeze lifted our veils, and we walked a well-trodden path amongst oak and hornbeam, beech, hazel and hawthorn, followed by servants bearing refreshments.

Just outside the city walls were the archery b.u.t.ts, small mounds of earth and stone used as platforms for practice targets. The targets themselves were limited only by the imagination. Sometimes the archers used scarecrows, sometimes a rough plank with crudely painted symbols. Today, they set up a well-dressed French soldier stuffed with straw. His tunic bore the royal arms of France.

A knot of perhaps twenty archers gathered a little distance away. They checked the horn knocks on their bows to be sure they held the string properly, waxed the bowstrings to ensure the arrows flew easily, and wound silk thread through the flights of each arrow to hold the goose feather quills firmly to the arrow shaft. As we approached, Blaybourne separated from the crowd, smiling and bowing. He was attired in a brown linen tunic and hose, topped with a leather jerkin, an outfit that blended in perfectly with the other men on the Rouen garrison.

"I am charmed that such lovely ladies should grace our archery contest-".

"Who wins?" Bess asked, fixing her green eyes on him. "Is it the person who shoots the fastest?"

"Or perhaps the one who is most accurate?" asked Margaret.

"Or perhaps the tallest and most well-favored gentleman?" put in Lisette smiling up at him.

"And what think you, my lady?" asked Blaybourne, turning towards me.

"Shooting accurately and quickly are important, of course," I replied, "but perhaps we should also look at how well kept each archer's kit is, because that gives some indication of his character."

He bowed.

"Or perhaps," I put in laughing, as a sudden thought struck me, "it should be how untidy it is."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," I said. "How untidy it is, on the grounds that an archer who can shoot both fast and accurately and yet has the most untidy tackle, must have a very quick and agile mind in order to be able to find what he needs in the midst of such shambles."

He clapped his hands and laughed. "An unusual contest. So let me see, the other ladies will judge speed and accuracy."

I smiled.

"And you, my lady, will judge for yourself how untidy he is."

Everyone murmured a.s.sent, and we arranged ourselves on the benches under the oak tree like brightly colored birds. The marshal held up his hand, then let it fall. The archers nocked and drew. They aimed, then let fly with hand following string almost as swiftly as the arrows flew. Bow strings tw.a.n.ged, arrows whistled, as the archers reached for the next arrow in belt or quiver, to nock and draw, aim and let fly, in a lethal, unrelenting hail of arrows.

Two archers lined up at a time to shoot, standing sideways to the direction of the target and drawing to ear or jaw. By this method of doublets-which I had suggested-we eventually narrowed the contestants down to Blaybourne and his rival, also tall and barrel-chested, but dark, scowling, and rough in his manners.

Both stood there: the scowling churl frowning as he nocked and drew with his right hand, while Blaybourne faced him, wearing gloves of soft tanned leather, using his left hand to knock and draw. Both arrows flew, but the one from Blaybourne pierced the heart of the stuffed French soldier, who toppled over into a heap of straw and old clothes. There was a cheer, followed by laughter as Blaybourne came back to receive our congratulations.

Even Isabel was quite warm in her praise.

"I've not seen a left-handed archer before," she remarked. "Can you shoot with your right hand too?"

"I'm sure he can," put in Lisette, her usually pasty complexion tinged with pink. She drained her cup of wine. "He could pierce anybody's heart with either hand," she giggled.

Isabel looked at her, but Lisette drained another cup of wine.

"My lady Cecylee, would you like to inspect the archers?" inquired Blaybourne with a bow.

Smiling, I took his arm. "It has to be suitably untidy," I remarked, tilting my head. "Somewhat untidy will not be good enough."

"And what does my lady consider to be suitably untidy?" he asked laughing.

I felt a flutter in my chest, so I frowned.

"You take this very seriously."

"Indeed I do. I do not give my favors away lightly."

Blaybourne raised his eyebrows but did not reply.

Each archer laid out his things on a piece of rough cloth. There was the bow, which was about five and a half feet long. There was the bow case, made of canvas. There was the leather quiver to hold the arrows, the arrows with their goose-feather quills, leather belts to tie the quiver around the waist, arm guards or bracers, and finger tabs to protect the fingers from the bowstring. There was also wax, silken thread, horn nocks and various tools for repair.

At length, I came upon one that was very untidy. As I straightened up, my eyes met Blaybourne's.

"Yours?" I queried.

He smiled.

"You knew-"

"I did not. I left it here just as you see."

I shook my head.

"It is true," he said, "I am naturally untidy. I am always losing things."

Another archer standing nearby agreed. "Yes, my lady. Untidy, that's what he is."

Soon there was a chorus of nodding men.

"How unfortunate," I murmured, "for that means you win."

"How can that be unfortunate?"

"It will make you unpopular," I remarked, looking at the other archers who were staring at me expectantly.

I raised my voice. "I am awarding two prizes. The first is the duke's prize for the fastest and most accurate archer, who has the tidiest kit."

I beckoned to the scowling man who came forward, his face now wreathed in smiles, as I gave him a badge made in the likeness of Richard's white lion. He pinned it onto his tunic with a flourish.

"Next, I present the d.u.c.h.ess's prize for the fastest and most accurate archer who has the untidiest kit."

I pinned another emblem onto Blaybourne's tunic. It showed a rose tree with a castle in the background. "It signifies the Rose of Raby, which is what folk called me when I was a girl," I murmured.

"I will treasure this with my life." He took my hand and kissed each finger separately.

My cheeks burned, for it reminded me of a gesture Richard had made when he'd come courting. Why was I being so foolish? My embarra.s.sment was sure to set tongues wagging.

Blaybourne nodded to the marshal, who came beside him and whispered something. The marshal signaled to the men from the garrison, and they departed in the direction of the castle. Then Blaybourne turned to the others watching. "Which of you ladies would like to try your hand at archery?"

Isabel went first, but she needed no instruction.

"How deft she is," remarked Margaret. "I'd no idea she was so talented."

Then he bowed and asked Margaret to try.

"I don't know if I should at my age."

"My lady, you are not old," he said, "and it will do you good."

He handed her his gloves and tied a leather arm guard on each arm.

Margaret drew. The arrow hit the ground in front of her with a thud.

"Try to look up, my lady. And pull to your ear."

This time the arrow whistled off and landed several yards away.

The ladies clapped, but Margaret, breathing heavily, handed the bow and gloves back to the archer.

"I do not wish to tempt fate," she said smiling. "Let the others try."

Lisette went next. Turning her head sideways, she gazed up at him through her lashes while he gave instructions.

"Lisette," murmured Margaret.

The arrow flew but landed only a yard or so away.

"Oh dear," remarked Lisette. "I don't feel very stable. Perhaps if you were to steady my arm?"

She gazed at him and crumpled to the ground.

I took a linen napkin from a servant to wipe her face, which was now beaded in sweat.

Margaret knelt beside her and gently unlaced her red gown.

Bess laid a hand on her cheek. "She seems feverish. We should take her inside."

Lisette opened her eyes. "I don't wish to go."

"You're not well," said Margaret.

"I shall take her back to the castle," said Isabel.

She signaled to the servants, who helped Lisette to her feet and divested her of the gloves, arm-guards and bow he had given her. They placed her in a litter and took her back to the castle.

Margaret and Isabel followed.

I remained with Bess and Blaybourne, looking at the retreating figures, when Bess said, "I have always wanted to try my hand at archery. May I?"

"Of course, my lady," he said. He tied the leather arm-guards on, handed her his gloves, and gave her his bow.

I felt suddenly weary, so I sat down under the oak tree and closed my eyes.

I must have gone out for a moment, for I came to with a start when he called out, "Perfect, my lady. You will be a fine archeress one day."

"With such an excellent teacher, how could I help that?" Bess replied laughing.

He was silent.

I rose and signaled to the servants to offer them some refreshments.

"I wondered where you were, my lady, I thought perhaps you'd gone," he said.

"I was seeing about the refreshments. Would you like something? Bess? It is a hot afternoon, and shooting arrows must be tiring work."

"No thank you," said Bess as she gave the gloves, arm-guards, and bow back to him. "I will go and see if Margaret needs my help."

She disappeared in the direction of the castle.

"Do we need the servants here, my lady?"

I looked at him for a long moment. I knew I shouldn't be alone with him, but- "Perhaps not," I murmured and beckoned to the steward.

Soon the servants were disappearing down the path to the castle. A breeze stirred and a bird trilled an arpeggio. We were completely alone.

He touched my arm. "And now it is your turn, Cecylee."

My head jerked up.

Our gaze held. Then he handed me the bow and the finger-tabs and tied the arm-guards on.

I lifted the bow, drew the string back, and aimed. But my first shot fell in front of my feet.

He came closer and, standing just behind me, put his hands on mine. His hands burned into my skin, yet gave me strength.

"It's like this," he murmured softly. "You look up, not down, you draw back as far as you can, and then-"

"You take the consequences?"

"Exactly," he said, as I fired off a shot that landed several yards away, right in the middle of the painted board that had been chosen as the target.

"That was excellent, Cecylee."

He was so close that I could inhale the spicy scent and feel his body just touching my back. Now, I felt his breath on my cheek. One step more, and he cradled me in his arms. Ignoring my pounding heart, I fired off another shot.

It landed in the ground several yards away.