is The One Who Commands My Obedience Is More Lovely Than A Flower .”
“You are looking very well, Cis,” remarked Isabel in her distinctive voice. She lisped her r s exactly as Richard did. “That is quite a magnificent dress, I have never seen so many pearls. Who is that?”
Silence fell as I faced Isabel.
Lady Isabel de Bourchier was an unusually thin lady of thirty-two years. Of course, it would be Isabel asking the awkward questions, with her habit of watchful silence. “This young man, Isabel, has come from Pontoise.”
Isabel turned towards him. “And you are?”
“My name is of no consequence, my lady.” The young man rose and bowed gracefully.
Isabel’s elegantly thin eyebrows rose. “Are you saying that you are of no consequence?”
There was silence.
“Where are you from?”
“A country far from here.”
Isabel thinned her lips.
“Isabel,” I said, touching her arm. “He has come from Pontoise. He has news of the campaign.”
Immediately the ladies clamored for news about their husbands, all of them among Richard’s generals: Isabel’s husband, Baron Henry Bourchier, Bess’s husband, the Earl of Oxford, and Lisette’s husband, my brother George, Lord Latimer.
I held up my hand. “It’s such a fine evening, with many more hours to run. Why don’t we sit outside? We can discuss Pontoise.”
I signaled to the servants to follow.
The young man put down his lute and offered me his arm.
I led everyone to an area out in the garden screened by yew, which made for a private kind of outside room. Inside this space were tubs of roses, rosemary, thyme, and small orange trees. A turf seat stood in the middle, looking as if three benches had been put into an oddly shaped triangle with a side left open. Sitting on the seat gave us a view out of this small garden through a doorway cut into the hedge. This view led the eye into the larger pleasure ground where a fountain fed the bathing pool.
I sat in the middle of the seat, with the young man on my right and Isabel on my left.
The others took the remaining places.
I turned to the young man, and he began his tale while the servants set up a table at the open side of the three-sided seat and brought cold beet soup, cheese, and manchet bread, followed by a salad and hare stew. This was followed by Hippocras and angel wafers.
“The French are playing a clever game,” I remarked as I set my wine down. “By not coming out into the open to fight us fairly, they conserve their forces, while we wear ours out as we chase after them. Could we not employ a similar strategy to the French?”
The young man raised his brows. “You are quite right, my lady,” he said. “What a strategist you are. I would not like to command an army that opposed yours.”
I was about to reply when Bess said, “I’m thankful our men managed to cross the bridge of boats at Royaumont without breaking their necks. Our Blessed Lady be thanked for that.” She dipped her head like a horse, chestnut curls bobbing.
“Men can be so reckless,” agreed Margaret, wiping her fingers with a napkin. Her husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury , had been holding Pontoise for the English along with my brother William, Lord Fauconberg , before Richard’s army arrived. Now they joined in his campaign against the French.
“We ladies have to be so strong,” declared Lisette, stuffing another wafer in her mouth and licking the honey off her fingers. “Gentlemen have no idea how hard it is to wait and wait with no news.” She batted her lashes at the young man. “Would you treat your wife like that?”
“I have no wife.”
Lisette opened her small, raisin-like eyes wide. Small and plump, twenty-year-old Lisette was like a pigeon that constantly pecked at its feed. “You don’t? A fine young man like yourself?”
“It’s not so easy for someone with my kind of life.”
“What kind of life? I’ve never met such a well-favored gentleman who hadn’t been
“You are looking very well, Cis,” remarked Isabel in her distinctive voice. She lisped her r s exactly as Richard did. “That is quite a magnificent dress, I have never seen so many pearls. Who is that?”
Silence fell as I faced Isabel.
Lady Isabel de Bourchier was an unusually thin lady of thirty-two years. Of course, it would be Isabel asking the awkward questions, with her habit of watchful silence. “This young man, Isabel, has come from Pontoise.”
Isabel turned towards him. “And you are?”
“My name is of no consequence, my lady.” The young man rose and bowed gracefully.
Isabel’s elegantly thin eyebrows rose. “Are you saying that you are of no consequence?”
There was silence.
“Where are you from?”
“A country far from here.”
Isabel thinned her lips.
“Isabel,” I said, touching her arm. “He has come from Pontoise. He has news of the campaign.”
Immediately the ladies clamored for news about their husbands, all of them among Richard’s generals: Isabel’s husband, Baron Henry Bourchier, Bess’s husband, the Earl of Oxford, and Lisette’s husband, my brother George, Lord Latimer.
I held up my hand. “It’s such a fine evening, with many more hours to run. Why don’t we sit outside? We can discuss Pontoise.”
I signaled to the servants to follow.
The young man put down his lute and offered me his arm.
I led everyone to an area out in the garden screened by yew, which made for a private kind of outside room. Inside this space were tubs of roses, rosemary, thyme, and small orange trees. A turf seat stood in the middle, looking as if three benches had been put into an oddly shaped triangle with a side left open. Sitting on the seat gave us a view out of this small garden through a doorway cut into the hedge. This view led the eye into the larger pleasure ground where a fountain fed the bathing pool.
I sat in the middle of the seat, with the young man on my right and Isabel on my left.
The others took the remaining places.
I turned to the young man, and he began his tale while the servants set up a table at the open side of the three-sided seat and brought cold beet soup, cheese, and manchet bread, followed by a salad and hare stew. This was followed by Hippocras and angel wafers.
“The French are playing a clever game,” I remarked as I set my wine down. “By not coming out into the open to fight us fairly, they conserve their forces, while we wear ours out as we chase after them. Could we not employ a similar strategy to the French?”
The young man raised his brows. “You are quite right, my lady,” he said. “What a strategist you are. I would not like to command an army that opposed yours.”
I was about to reply when Bess said, “I’m thankful our men managed to cross the bridge of boats at Royaumont without breaking their necks. Our Blessed Lady be thanked for that.” She dipped her head like a horse, chestnut curls bobbing.
“Men can be so reckless,” agreed Margaret, wiping her fingers with a napkin. Her husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury , had been holding Pontoise for the English along with my brother William, Lord Fauconberg , before Richard’s army arrived. Now they joined in his campaign against the French.
“We ladies have to be so strong,” declared Lisette, stuffing another wafer in her mouth and licking the honey off her fingers. “Gentlemen have no idea how hard it is to wait and wait with no news.” She batted her lashes at the young man. “Would you treat your wife like that?”
“I have no wife.”
Lisette opened her small, raisin-like eyes wide. Small and plump, twenty-year-old Lisette was like a pigeon that constantly pecked at its feed. “You don’t? A fine young man like yourself?”
“It’s not so easy for someone with my kind of life.”
“What kind of life? I’ve never met such a well-favored gentleman who hadn’t been
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