In the next wave, two more advanced to the next round. It seemed silly, really; already, their lack of skill were showing and their arrows were just in the bounds of the inner circle, where Gisbourne and Robin’s were true and hard to the center.
The horn blew again, and this time the sweeping pages set to the fields and the players withdrew. Eleanor and Isabel stood, handed off the dais by Winchester and the prince. I stood too, swaying toward Eleanor like I were naturally drawn to her, but Isabel stepped quick to me. “Come, Lady Leaford. My legs want for walking.” She hooked her arm through my good one like a man might, and drew me off with a wave to her ladies to leave us.
“I don’t care if you tell anyone, you know.”
I looked to her. She raised her chin, and her pale skin against the snow seemed bright like oyster shells. “Your Highness?” I asked.
“That Lady Essex was attending my husband so late. Gisbourne was quite upset about it, but if you think I will waste breath trying to convince you not to tell the court, you are mistaken.”
There weren’t much like getting fingers hacked off to make you forget an adultery or two. “It’s not my place to say such or judge,” I told her honestly. “But I don’t hold no thoughts of your husband being a great man.”
Her head whipped to me in such a way what sent her dark curls flying, lush like suede and making me miss my hair, my only bit of vain. “He is a great man. All great men cannot be held accountable to the standards of peasant marriages.”
“It ain’t about nobility,” I snapped back. “Faithfulness is God’s own law. It’s a commandment. Break it or don’t but don’t say that nobles aren’t accountable.”
“Royalty is picked by God,” she told me. “They rule by the right of God. That’s why it’s a mortal sin to spill their blood, to dishonor them. And John is no different.” She tossed her hair again. “Besides, I hold no illusions that he ever loved me for more than the gold I brought him. I know him better than he thinks I do, you know. I see him looking at that French tart Isabelle—like two more letters without sound makes her name so much more elegant than mine—and he doesn’t care for her beauty. He sees French armies, French power. French gold. When he wants beauty he’ll turn to Lady Essex.”
Who were the French Isabelle? I wanted to know, but it didn’t seem wise to ask.
“You see, you think you’re so very special for your marriage without love. So tortured and martyred. But we all marry without love, Marian. You aren’t special at all.”
I frowned. “Did I ever say different?”
Isabel stopped. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing, and even Guy clearly knows something and won’t tell me. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re about, Isabel,” I told her.
“Eleanor!” she near shouted, and looked around like it might summon the white lady. “What interest does Eleanor have in you, your parents, the lot of it?”
“My parents?”
She folded her arms. “Eleanor of Aquitaine saw the lord and lady Leaford off from the courtyard this morning. In the snow. Alone. I saw her embrace Lady Leaford,” she told me, her nose raised higher than ever. “Tell me what that is about this moment.”
My face folded into a scowl. “Your Highness, you should ask Eleanor. Or my husband, it seems, but I don’t know a damn thing about it.” She started to speak again and I shook my head. “I intend to find a fire,” I told her.
She crossed her arms and frowned at me, but she let me go.
I skirted round the edge of things, looking for Eleanor. I saw her standing near one of the great bonfires built on the edge of the nobles’ area—I reckoned much to keep the common sort out. Whether or not she were wearing one, she always looked like she should have a great crown upon her head. Her skin were wrinkled over again and again, in a way that made her look lived-in and world-wise. She were small, but she had brought England and France to their knees, with every man in between begging for her. She had crumbled old kings and raised up new ones.
She were everything a woman could ever dare to be, and my heart felt such a kinship for her. Yet I didn’t move much forward, staying back, knowing if I went to her I couldn’t help but ask all my questions.
Like she felt me watching her, she turned and looked to me, folding her hands in front of her. She met my eyes and nodded once.
I stepped forward.
The horn blew, calling out for the next round, and we went back to the dais.
The next round seemed awful slow. Now the archers had to shoot three arrows from the increased distance, one in each of the three different circles. It were a feat of skill what would narrow the field down sharp, but rather than understand this and allow themselves to be picked off, the louts went about it slow and deliberate, like waiting and licking their lips would help them strike a target.