Waldin had not taken part that day; instead he had devoted himself to answering Raymond’s questions and plying Gwenn with scoopful after scoopful of honeyed almonds and raisins. For months afterwards Gwenn had relished their sweetness and had carried in her mind the brightness and colour of the tourney. After the tournament, Waldin had vanished out of her life as inexplicably as he had appeared, but that day with her uncle had stood out among other, duller days as one filled with magic and wonder.
It was strange how she could not call Waldin’s face to mind, but she was sure she knew what he would look like. He would be tall and strong and brave. He would ride a white charger like the hero of a troubadour’s song. She conjured up an image of him, and it was clear as day.
‘Why should Sir Waldin change his mind, Papa?’ she asked. Since bringing his family to Kermaria, Sir Jean had given his children permission to name him ‘father’, explicitly acknowledging them as his. He had not, however, kept his promise to marry his mistress.
Jean smiled. ‘The reasons why Waldin could be delayed are legion.’
‘From what I’ve learned of life on the tourney circuit, I should think they’re most likely female,’ Raymond cut in with a man-of-the-world snigger. He looked more than happy to expand on this theme, but Jean silenced him with a look.
‘My brother’s a law unto himself, and always has been,’ Jean said. ‘But judging from his missive, it would seem he’s retiring from the lists.’
‘Thank God for that mercy,’ Yolande said softly.
Gwenn clapped her hands. ‘I can’t wait to see him! Think of it, Raymond. The tales he must have to tell. Why, he will have met the King.’
‘Which King are you talking about?’ Raymond asked dampeningly. ‘France or England?’ He seized a decanter of wine and upended it into his cup.
‘Does it matter? To have met a king, any king! Oh, Raymond, aren’t you excited?’
He was, but at seventeen Raymond felt conscious that he was a man full grown, and he’d die rather than admit it. ‘I should think Waldin will have better things to do than gossip with maids,’ he said.
Yolande intervened. ‘It will be lovely to see your brother again,’ she declared. ‘I’m glad he’s retiring from the circuit. Perhaps we might persuade him to stay.’
‘I pray so. I could always use a good man.’
‘Why is Waldin retiring, Papa?’ Raymond asked. ‘I thought tourney champions made sackfuls of money.’
‘They do. When they win. As you know, they take all the loser’s accoutrements – his horse, his arms, everything. But each time they fight they risk their lives and their goods. And they cannot always win. The life of a champion often ends in penury, if it is not cut short. Waldin’s had a good, long run. Only God is infallible, and Waldin knows his time as a champion is limited.’
Raymond toyed with a piece of meat he had impaled on the point of his dagger. ‘He’s running away.’
‘He’s using his brain.’ Jean set his stoneware cup down smartly. ‘But don’t ask me. You can ask the champion himself in a couple of weeks. He plans to be here around Ascensiontide.’
‘So soon?’ Yolande murmured, under her breath. Her hands were at her girdle, tightening it, and her eyes were turned down to their trencher. ‘That’s not long at all. I’ll have to have done it by then.’
‘What are you muttering about?’ Jean demanded, noticing for the first time that Yolande had lost her sparkle. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
But she declined to meet his gaze. Instead her eyes wandered to the fire flaming in the newly-tiled hearth. She sat straight as a nun, and folded her hands neatly over her stomach. ‘We’ll be needing new linen sheets if Waldin is to come. The spare ones are fit for nothing but dish clouts.’ Then she turned her head and met her lover’s eyes straight on. Her gaze was remote, her face was set like rock, and her wide forehead was furrowed. Jean’s heart lurched. That look – it was as though she did not like him, had never liked him, and was sure she never would like him. Bemused, he ran his hand over his moustache, and then Yolande was smiling warmly at him, and her hand had come to cover his.
***
Having picked at her evening meal, Yolande retired early to the solar, taking a rush-light with her. At Kermaria, peace was almost as rare a commodity as privacy, and Yolande needed peace desperately tonight. She had some thinking to do. Pressing her hand to her belly, she paced the boards. A tiny fluttering made itself felt, as though there were a butterfly inside her. But it was no butterfly. Yolande had known that fluttering sensation before, and knew what it meant. Each time she had noticed it, a babe had followed some months later.
She was pregnant. Yolande had misgivings about this baby. She did not want another child. More precisely, she did not want another bastard.
The Stone Rose stared proudly down from a new walnut plinth on a shelf Jafrez the carpenter had fixed to the east wall. Kneeling before it, Yolande offered an Ave Maria before murmuring a more personal prayer. The Virgin watched with cold, granite eyes. ‘Holy Mother, help me. Advise me. I had thought the time had past that I could bear a child. Why else should my courses have stopped when Katarin was three? What purpose do you have in giving me another child? I count it no blessing. Why?’
It seemed to Yolande that the hard, almond-shaped eyes judged her; judged, and found her guilty. ‘I know I have sinned,’ she bowed her head, ‘but I love him. I would have married him if I could. Before each child was born, I prayed that it would not have to bear the taint of bastardy. Three times I did that. I pray that same prayer today. Holy Mother–’
The shadows shifted, light danced and skittered over the limewashed walls. Someone had entered the solar, carrying a lantern. Yolande’s moment of private contemplation was ended.
‘Mama?’ Gwenn set the lantern on a coffer and opened its door, so that the light strengthened. ‘Is anything amiss?’
Stiffly, Yolande got to her feet and forced a smile.
‘You look so sad. What is it, Mama?’
Yolande longed to confide in someone. Why not Gwenn? Her daughter was fifteen now, old enough. ‘I’m enceinte,’ she announced, bluntly.
Gwenn looked delighted. ‘But Mama, that’s wonderful! I love babies. There will be someone else for Katarin to play with.’ She kissed Yolande on the cheek. ‘Don’t be sad about that, Mama. That’s lovely news.’
‘Is it?’ Yolande murmured, bleakly. ‘That will make four of you. Four.’
‘So?’
Yolande swung away. ‘Four illegitimate children, Gwenn. I think three is more than enough for any woman to bear a man, don’t you?’
Some of the shining joy left her daughter’s expression. ‘No one minds that out here, Mama.’
‘Don’t they? Don’t you mind, Gwenn?’
Her daughter’s eyes slid to the newly worked arras hanging across the chamber door. ‘No.’ Her chin inched up. ‘It was only in Vannes that people minded. Here, on Father’s land, it is different.’
‘Is it? I’m not so sure.’ Another matter had been preying on Yolande’s mind, and dimly she perceived that the two worries were linked. ‘Lately, I have noticed that your relationship with Ned Fletcher is over-familiar – no, Gwenn, it is no use you scowling like that. It won’t do. I worry about you. If your father and I were married, Ned Fletcher wouldn’t dare let his eyes stray.’
‘Ned Fletcher is good to me,’ Gwenn said, stubbornly. ‘I won’t hear a word against him.’
Yolande kept her voice cool. ‘I’m sure he is, dear. But you must remember, he’s from common stock.’
‘Common stock!’ Gwenn spluttered. ‘What do you mean?’
So Gwenn did mind... Yolande sighed. ‘Oh, my dear, if I were married to your father, you would understand immediately what I mean. My life of sin has blinded you to the truth.’