Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

The Prince dragged a shocked breath over his larynx. Earl Hugh gave a great bellow of laughter, slapped his hand down on the table and drove a dagger of glass straight into his palm. Blood spurted. The bellow became a howl of pain.

Judith grabbed a napkin from the table and sought to staunch the wound but, in her flustered haste, knocked over a candlestick and set fire to Gilbert de Clare's sleeve.

Guyon, his eyes filled with hilarity, snatched the flagon and doused their guest with a great deal of enthusiasm and a very poor aim for a man who was so skilled a warrior. Gilbert's hound snarled and tried to bite Guyon's ankle and was kicked across the room to fetch up yelping against the wall . Pandemonium reigned. Stella Maris faltered, twanged and stopped. The minstrel sidled out of the room, de Clare's abused dog snarling at his heels. Judith flapped around like a headless chicken, creating more chaos than she was clearing up, but at last, Chester's wound was thoroughly, if clumsily, staunched with the napkin, she looked around at the wreckage with brimming eyes, then covered her face with her hands, muffling little sounds into them, her shoulders shaking.

Guyon flicked a look at his wife, spluttered and quickly bent to retrieve a dish from the floor while he mustered his control. 'I suggest, madam, that you go and find some fresh garments for my lord Prince,' he said in a choked voice.

Judith squeaked and fled. Gilbert de Clare saw an embarrassed husband struggling manfully to control his rage at the shortcomings of his foolish wife. Hugh of Chester in contrast saw a man striving to contain his mirth and banishing its giggling catalyst from his presence until he should be capable of controlling himself. He also saw why it had been done and, looking down at the wad of embroidered linen screwed ineptly round his cut and, knowing how her competent medical skill had saved Guyon's life, concluded that Judith of Ravenstow would take some holding if she ever decided to take the bit between her teeth.

Judith re-emerged, biting her lower lip, her shoulders still displaying a disturbing tendency to tremble as she handed Henry tunic and chausses. Henry quirked his brows, not quite as befooled as his bland expression suggested.

'Do not fret yourself, Lady Judith,' he said magnanimously. 'Accidents will happen.'

Gilbert de Clare coughed and, after a quick glance at Henry, pretended great interest in the rushes strewing the floor. Henry ignored him and changed into the garments. He and Guyon were of a similar breadth, but whereas Guyon measured around two yards in height, Henry fell a full six inches short of that mark and the chausses had to be extensively bound with cross-garters to take up the surplus material. Consequently, the evening ended in laughter and a deal of good-humoured jesting.

Henry swung to horse in the torchlit courtyard, his face open and smiling, black hair tumbling in an unruly shock over his broad forehead, grey eyes shining with the remnants of a good joke.

'You are most fortunate in your wife, Guy.' He glanced over his shoulder to where she stood outlined in the doorway. His tunic reached almost to his fingertips in the new style of the court women and the chausses, even with the bindings, were appallingly wrinkled.

'I know, my lord,' Guyon answered, smiling.

'Although, as you have seen, most of her ploys have a sting in their tail.'

Henry chuckled. 'To be expected when she is under the sign of the scorpion,' he said.

Guyon looked up sharply.

Henry leaned down over his saddlebow and said impishly, 'Remember me to Alicia when you next see her. Tell her I approve.'

The horse lunged forward. Guyon stepped back and watched the glossy bay stall ion trot out of the yard. Gilbert de Clare followed on his patchy, raw-boned roan, his brother in tow, and then came Earl Hugh and the bodyguard.

'What was all that double talk about being related?' the Earl asked.

'Nothing,' said Guyon, uncomfortably aware that Hugh d'Avrenches missed precious little. 'A private joke. I am not sure that I understand it myself. What's more to the point, my lord, is Henry's closeness to the de Clares. There was a deal of double talk there, too.'

'Keep your nose out, Guy. Judith was right to drop that cup when she did. What the eye does not see and the ear does not hear cannot be a source of grief in time to come.'

'Oh yes,' Guyon said a trifle bitterly. 'I am an expert in the art of diplomacy.'

'Well then, don't fall foul of the de Clares. They bid fair to be as powerful as the Montgomery line one day, and one day soon at that. Hunting tomorrow? I'll see you there.'

Guyon watched him leave, then, frowning, went to the stables to check his courser which had a suffered a leg sprain during the day's hunt.

Upstairs, Helgund bustled around the bedchamber, lighting the night candle, folding and tidying, setting matters to rights. Judith slowly removed the gold fillets that clasped the ends of her braids and unwound her hair. Helgund helped her unlace the tight-fitting overgown and, after Judith had drawn it off, hung it tidily on the clothing pole and fetched her mistress an ivory comb.

Judith was thoughtful. The evening had not passed without incident, but at least a potential disaster had been avoided. A pity that the Prince possessed a sharper vision than Gilbert and Roger de Clare, who both obviously saw her as a muddle-headed juvenile. She had the impression that Henry had been amused because he was already several steps ahead of her and could afford to laugh. It was not a comfortable thought, but then neither were the other ones that jostled for space and recognition.

Slowly she combed the kinks from her hair until it hung in a glowing, fiery fan to her thighs and tried to coax her tense muscles to relax. In a quiet voice she thanked Helgund and bade her go to bed. The maid curtsied and left. A soft silence descended and was infiltrated by the sounds of the spring night. Judith sat in the stillness and fiddled with the drawstring of her shift.

When Guyon finally came up to the room, he found Judith sitting on the bed buffing her nails, the candlelight making a golden halo behind her head. She looked up and gave him a strained smile and, rising, padded barefoot across the room to pour him wine.

He took it from her, his expression blankly preoccupied, drank, looked at the delicate glass and seemed to come to his senses, for suddenly his eyes refocused and he concentrated upon her face.

'What's the matter?' she asked. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

It was there. You could see it when you knew.

The expressions, the occasional mannerisms, the way her hair sprang from her brow. 'Nothing,' he said, wondering if his father knew. Perhaps. If it became common scandal the results would be disastrous. She was not Maurice of Ravenstow's daughter, therefore the barony was not hers by right of birth but belonged instead to her Montgomery uncles - Robert de Belleme, Arnulf and Roger. He suddenly felt very cold.

'Guy?' Feeling frightened, Judith touched his arm and, when he did not move, his brow also.

He started at her touch and looked at her, but as if she was a complete stranger he had never seen before.

'What's wrong? Has Prince Henry taken offence at me? Did he realise that I ... ?'

'Prince Henry?' He gave a humourless laugh.

'Prince Henry will take no offence. How could he?'

Oh no, it was very much to his advantage. The halter, yoke and hobble of blood. He stared at the cup in his hand, set it down and paced over to the shutters. The catch was loose and he pushed them open. The scent of hawthorn was thick and sweet. He could see the blossom gleaming softly white in the garth. A breeze ruffled his hair and eddied one of the wall hangings.

'Is it something so terrible that you cannot tell me?' Judith asked at his elbow. 'Do we face ruin?'