A Lady Under Siege

41

Thomas and Sylvanne went riding again together the very next afternoon. This time they gave the horses a thorough workout. Sylvanne rode like a man, with her skirt hoisted daringly high, so that her calves showed bare and white in the sun. At a place where a country creek widened into a kidney-shaped pond, they stopped to let their mounts rest and drink, and Thomas was moved to remark, “In horsemanship, I can truly say we are as equals.”

Sylvanne smiled and said, “Oh really? Today I thought myself your better. But perhaps it was my mount that surpassed yours.”

“Then we should switch horses,” he suggested.

“No no. We must find another way of taking each other’s measure,” she said playfully.

“It seems we do so every time we speak.”

On the way back to the castle they took a detour, slowing their horses to a walk to pass through the town. Sylvanne shifted to the more demure side-saddle style so that her legs remained fully covered by her kirtle. A confusion of streets no wider than alleys led them to an open square in the midst of the clutter of houses, a gathering place that had been decorated with garlands of flowers for a wedding celebration. A quartet of wayfaring musicians played a lively jig for the couples dancing on the hard-trodden earth, while children and dogs ran about underfoot. Women could be seen preparing the food for a feast, while their men folk availed themselves of the free ale that attracted all types of classes and characters, from the upright to the downright unsavoury. A couple of well-oiled locals noticed Sylvanne and Thomas approach, and boldly stepped in front of them.

“It’s the lovely Lady Sylvanne,” exclaimed one. “First time I’ve laid eyes on you since we drug you home from the siege. You’re looking much better fed and prettier now than ever, I’m quite sure.”

“You’re drunk,” Sylvanne replied haughtily.

“Course I am, I’ve every right to be, it’s a wedding feast after all. What better occasion? Love is in the air, booze in the belly!”

The second man chimed in. “M’Lord, do us the honour of coming down off your steed and making a toast. Give your blessing to the happy couple.”

“I would, but the Lady is not to be left alone among you rabble. I need to squire her home,” Thomas replied. He thought a moment. “Bring the lovebirds out, I’ll bestow the blessing here and now.”

“Yes Sir!”

The two hurried off, wending their way through the milling crowd until they disappeared into a clotted-walled hall just off the square. A moment later they emerged with Mabel and Gwynn in tow. Sylvanne fixed Thomas with an inquisitive look, which he shrugged off with a smile, saying, “Honestly, I had no idea the happy couple would be these two.” The new bride and her groom stopped in the shadow of the horses. Mabel, robed in a loose, sky-blue half-sleeved gown of linen, kept her head lowered, apparently too troubled by fear or shame to meet Sylvanne’s eyes.

“Poultryman!” Thomas greeted Gwynn. “I see you’ve wasted no time.”

“No Sir. I thank you, Sir, for setting this one free,” said Gwynn merrily, giving Mabel a squeeze. “She’ll be a boon to me and my boys.” He looked around for his three brats, and pointed them out on the fringe of the crowd, pulling the tail of a snarling dog.

“Next time you deliver chickens, I’ll make you a gift of one of my prized fighting cocks,” proclaimed Thomas. “He’ll be a tonic to your bloodlines, if he doesn’t slay your hens in mating with them. For now I’ll simply offer my congratulations, and wish you all the best in the future.”

“Thank you Sir. Same to you, though it seems you’ve chosen a tougher lady to tame.”

”Yes, well. You’re lucky. Sweet Mabel here has accepted her new circumstances and made the best of them. I pray this one will do the same someday,” he said, gesturing to Sylvanne, who did her best to hold herself erect and aloof upon her mount. The sight of Mabel, who had deserted her, raised her blood, and now to hear herself discussed like a chattel by Lord and freeman brought her emotions positively to a boil.

“If she’s right and I’ve been wrong, why is she afraid to look upon me?” she said caustically.

“Now now, don’t sour the poor woman’s happiness on her wedding day,” Thomas reproached her. “Come. Can you not say a few kind words to her?”

“I will try,” said Sylvanne, but her tone remained harsh. “Mabel, I hope your husband proves as faithful to you as mine was to me.”

Suddenly Gwynn spoke up animatedly. “More faithful than that, I should hope!” he cackled. Mabel slapped him soundly across the chest, and scolded him to button his mouth.

“What do you mean by that?” Sylvanne demanded, but the poultryman lowered his eyes. “Mabel, what does he mean by that?”

“Nothing m’Lady.”

“You must have told him something.”

“Nothing, m’Lady,” Mabel protested, but her face had turned red and she still could not meet her mistress’s eyes.

“This is hardly the time or place—” Thomas started to say, but Sylvanne cut him short, addressing Mabel sharply.

“I want you to come see me tomorrow, and I’ll get to the bottom of this,” she insisted. “Tomorrow, do you hear me?”

“Give the woman a full day to recover from her wedding night, at least,” Thomas interjected. “Mabel, don’t come tomorrow, make it the next day.”

“Yes sir,” Mabel replied glumly. “May I go now?”

“Of course, of course!” Thomas crowed, too merrily, in an effort to lift the sudden pall. “Back to your celebrations! Again I wish the both of you all the best, long lives and many children!”

As the wedding couple turned and retreated, he glanced at Sylvanne’s face, still simmering with anger. “I freed you from your prison, yet you seek new ways to bring yourself suffering,” he told her, but Sylvanne didn’t seem to hear him. He turned his horse toward home, and her horse followed on its own, unguided by a rider whose thoughts were miles away.