Meriel Fuller - Commanded By The French Duke

Alinor smiled at her enthusiasm, the girl’s good humour despite her desperate situation. Bianca had arrived at Alinor’s home with an escort of French knights, sent by Queen Eleanor, King Henry’s wife, in order to marry Alinor’s stepbrother Eustace. A marriage arranged by the Queen, with the Savoy family of Attalens in France, a marriage that could not be unarranged. Her stepmother disapproved of the match, violently disapproved, but how could she openly contest a queen’s edict? She wanted Eustace to marry Alinor, as Alinor was the sole inheritor of her father’s vast wealth, his many castles and estates. On her father’s death she would be a wealthy woman in her own right. And her stepmother would do anything for Eustace to have all that and, so it seemed, she would stop at nothing, nothing, to achieve that end.

‘Have you been able to find anyone to take me to the coast yet?’ Bianca widened her large blue eyes in question as she nibbled delicately at the cheese. ‘It was a shame your stepmother sent my escort away so quickly, otherwise they could have taken me back. And my poor maidservant as well, having to travel back with them!’

‘Wilhema wanted them all out of the way as quickly as possible. She didn’t want them to find out what she was planning for you,’ Alinor said. ‘But don’t worry, I have someone in mind to take you back to France, someone I can trust.’ Ralph, she thought to herself, or someone in his family. They would help. ‘Remember, you are supposed to be dead. Wilhelma truly believes that I did what she asked of me, that I poisoned you. If she, or one of her friends, should see you...’

‘It won’t happen; I can disguise myself.’ Bianca turned her mouth down ruefully. ‘I need to wear your lay sister’s clothes and possibly cut my hair, darken down the colour?’

‘Yes, all of those things. You cannot risk being recognised. But you must stay here for the moment; I promise, I won’t take long to ask my friend to take you home.’

‘I’m surprised you’re not offering to do it yourself,’ Bianca teased. ‘After all, you seem to demonstrate exceptional skill when it comes to dealing with potential attackers.’

Alinor laughed, touched her check self-consciously. ‘Don’t worry, he will be a proper escort.’

‘Just make sure he’s good looking,’ Bianca said. ‘That’s all I ask.’

Such a request seemed so idiotic in the face of the huge risks both girls were taking that they both dissolved into laughter, heads bobbing together in the flickering half-light.

* * *

Hiking up her skirts, Alinor scrambled on to the stone window ledge, angled deep into the infirmary wall. Standing, she reached for the ornate iron latch on the leaded window, pushing the casement open. Fresh air flooded the chamber, cutting through the fuggy, foetid air. The nuns’ hospital, a double-height building set apart from the Priory, held about twenty pallet beds, simply constructed and lifted a few inches from the flagstone floor by a block of wood at each end. Mattresses and pillowcases were stuffed with straw, which could easily be replaced; coarse linen sheets and a motley collection of woven blankets lay on top of each bed.

Only one of the beds was occupied at the moment. Sister Edith, one of the more elderly nuns, had come in a few days ago complaining of stomach pains, which had developed into vomiting and fever. Now she lay on her back in the bed, a motionless doll-like figure under a heap of blankets. She had stopped being sick, yet still she shivered, moaning occasionally. Alinor jumped down from the window ledge and moved over to her, dipping a flannel into a bowl of cool water beside the bed, and placing it gently across Edith’s forehead. She was worried about her; so worried that she had stayed the night at the convent, lying restlessly in the pallet bed next to her, alert and wakeful to Edith’s shallow breathing. She hadn’t even had time to visit Bianca today. She would go this evening, when there would be more sisters around to tend to Edith.

‘Any change?’ Maeve, the Prioress of Odstock, swept into the infirmary, flanked by two young novices. A tall, imposing woman, Maeve had a reputation for being strict, but fair. Alinor held a great deal of respect for her; the Prioress had held her mother in her arms as she had finally succumbed to the fever that had gripped her for days, and would help Alinor whenever she could. And in return, Alinor helped the nuns with her healing skills, learned from an early age at her mother’s knee; she even had her own bed at the Priory, which allowed her to come and go as she pleased.

Alinor tilted her head to one side. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what Maeve would say if she told her about the girl hidden in the cellars. But the Prioress was a stickler for rules; if she found out about the Queen’s wish for Bianca to marry Eustace, she would probably send the poor girl straight back to Alinor’s home and to her conniving stepmother. No, she couldn’t risk that. Helping Bianca leave the country was something she would have to do on her own, hopefully with Ralph’s help.

‘Have you put any ointment on that bruise yet?’ Maeve barked at her, her light-brown eyes swiftly assessing the patchy marks on Alinor’s cheek. The sparseness of her eyelashes made her facial features more prominent: a large, beak-like nose, the white expanse of lined forehead, shaved eyebrows.

‘Yes, yes, I have,’ Alinor reassured her. She had dabbed her cheek with foul-smelling unguent that very morning, when she had woken in the pallet bed next to the ailing nun.

Maeve peered at her critically. ‘It looks nasty. How did you say it happened again?’

‘I was stupid, I knocked it on one of the outposts of the cart, yesterday.’ She threw her a twisted smile. ‘As usual, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

Maeve smiled. ‘Oh, Alinor, as clumsy as your mother was.’ She clasped her bony fingers in front of her swinging cross. ‘But also as good at selling. Your mother also knew how to drive a hard bargain. Thank you for all that coin; it will certainly keep us through the winter.’

And to think I nearly lost it all, thought Alinor. The risks I took. A hollowness suddenly emptied her stomach, the washcloth tightening between her fingers, drips running down on to the woollen blanket.

‘You look pale, Alinor. Go and fetch yourself something to eat; there’s food out in the refectory. I’ll watch Edith for a while.’ Maeve eased the washcloth from Alinor’s fingers and settled herself on the three-legged stool next to Edith’s bed.

‘I need to pick one other plant which might help her,’ Alinor said.

‘Fine, but don’t leave the Priory at the moment. There have been reports of fighting between the royalists and the rebels nearby. I wouldn’t want you to become caught up in something like that.’

A surcoat of red and gold surged in her mind’s eye; she dashed the vivid memory away. ‘No, I won’t go home today. I wanted to see how Edith fares.’ And to make sure Bianca leaves safely, she thought. Besides, she had no wish to return home to face her stepmother. She was better off at the Priory.

* * *

During the morning, the cloud had thickened steadily; the day was sunless, overcast, with a fitful breeze. As Alinor walked through the arch in the ivy-clad wall to the vegetable gardens, leaves chased along the cobbled path before her, silver-backed, yellowing, as if tossed by an unseen hand. A gust of wind eddied around her skirts, blowing them sideways, but after being cooped in with Edith all morning, she relished the fresh air against her skin. From a line of billowing oaks to the north, a gaggle of black crows flew up, sharply, wings beating furiously against the powerful currents of air.

Eyes watering in the cool air, Alinor strode briskly, past the neat rows of root vegetables: the carrots, turnips and swedes ready to be lifted and stored for winter. Her herb plot lay to the rear of the gardens; here, she grew the flowers and plants that went to make up her tinctures and ointments. Leaning over, she plucked several leaves of feverfew, and some mint as well, for flavour, stuffing them in the linen pouch that hung from her girdle.