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swaying rump of his bay horse. He rides ahead like Orpheus in the legend, leading me and Maman with Hoddie on her mule, two mounted men-at-arms before us and another two behind. Down from the outer gate, across the moat and into Lewes Borough.
It rained last night and everything in sight is sparkling clean. Every stone and cobble, every sprouting weed stand out with perfect clarity as if someone has drawn around them with a quill. It’s cool enough to ride unveiled. The air smells wonderfully fresh with puddles in the roadway, sky shingled with a mass of little clouds like dapples on a pony – a splendid, helpful kind of day for our first meeting.
The cottages which crowd about the castle ditch are like a group of gossips leaning in at confidential angles. A woman in the roadway has baskets swinging from a yolk; a bundle on her head and half a dozen sharp-faced children turning back to stare – a donkey cart, a boy with a hand-barrow, two ragged beggars both with sticks, a young man and a girl caressing one another in a doorway. So much to life on every side you can’t feel anything but hopeful!
Today and very soon I am to see Sir Garon, and from the moment that we meet my life will change completely! However fair or ill he looks, he is to be my husband and the first man out of water I’m to see entirely naked.
Is it wicked to look forward to a thing like that and still feel hopeful?
‘Be sure, chérie, to keep your feet well covered.’ (I wondered how long it would take Maman to notice how I’m riding.)
ELISE AND GARON, GARON AND ELISE sound like the names of lovers in a chanson. Like Abelard and Héloïse. ‘Brave Sir Garon, storming Lewes Fortress to rescue fair Elise!’
Maman says that marriage is the only means outside a cloister by which a breeding female can avoid a mortal sin. She says that women have to take men in and push their babies out to win respect, and thinks we have to show our worth the hard way with our legs apart and on our backs. But Maman doesn’t know it all. Because if knights and ladies can be courteous and loving to one another in ballads and in chansons, why not in life? Why not, if they’re well-matched? Why not see marriage to a man as something positive and thrilling?
The way is steeply downhill to the Saxon Gate. My little mare needs a firm hand to keep her footing on the cobbles – as much attention as I have to spare. Which isn’t much at all with all there is to see. Beyond the Priory towers the meads are blossoming; a field of moving colour! I’ve never seen so many tents and banners in so many hues – white, hempen, scarlet, saffron-yellow, emerald and blue, parti-coloured, striped and quartered. Aquitaine, the fairest land in Christendom, has come to England with Duke Richard who was raised there. They say that men in Aquitaine are valued quite as much for penning ballads as for wielding swords, and I can well believe it. Pastimes in Aquitaine include great tournaments like this, and banquets, courts of love and gardens of delight. With Richard come to rule in England, everything will change!
But now we’re down the hill and through the gateway to the river wharf – a powerful smell of fish and tar, the masts of ships above the roofs. And what a beastly clamour – all gabbling in Engleis (ugly, guttural language I’ll never understand it). A man in leather breeches, hairy top-half bare, is calling out some impudence. I have my nose stuck in the air in the best manner of the Countess, but inside have to smile at Hoddie’s answer in the same coarse tongue, and at the laugh that follows.
We’ve so much more of everything than they have, that it’s mean to envy common folk their laughter. But I do.
‘Well really!’ Maman’s observation to no one in particular, but doubtless aimed at me. ‘It’s well I had the forethought to leave our purses with My Lady’s steward. For I swear I’ve never seen so many rogues and vagabonds at liberty together.’
‘Nor
It rained last night and everything in sight is sparkling clean. Every stone and cobble, every sprouting weed stand out with perfect clarity as if someone has drawn around them with a quill. It’s cool enough to ride unveiled. The air smells wonderfully fresh with puddles in the roadway, sky shingled with a mass of little clouds like dapples on a pony – a splendid, helpful kind of day for our first meeting.
The cottages which crowd about the castle ditch are like a group of gossips leaning in at confidential angles. A woman in the roadway has baskets swinging from a yolk; a bundle on her head and half a dozen sharp-faced children turning back to stare – a donkey cart, a boy with a hand-barrow, two ragged beggars both with sticks, a young man and a girl caressing one another in a doorway. So much to life on every side you can’t feel anything but hopeful!
Today and very soon I am to see Sir Garon, and from the moment that we meet my life will change completely! However fair or ill he looks, he is to be my husband and the first man out of water I’m to see entirely naked.
Is it wicked to look forward to a thing like that and still feel hopeful?
‘Be sure, chérie, to keep your feet well covered.’ (I wondered how long it would take Maman to notice how I’m riding.)
ELISE AND GARON, GARON AND ELISE sound like the names of lovers in a chanson. Like Abelard and Héloïse. ‘Brave Sir Garon, storming Lewes Fortress to rescue fair Elise!’
Maman says that marriage is the only means outside a cloister by which a breeding female can avoid a mortal sin. She says that women have to take men in and push their babies out to win respect, and thinks we have to show our worth the hard way with our legs apart and on our backs. But Maman doesn’t know it all. Because if knights and ladies can be courteous and loving to one another in ballads and in chansons, why not in life? Why not, if they’re well-matched? Why not see marriage to a man as something positive and thrilling?
The way is steeply downhill to the Saxon Gate. My little mare needs a firm hand to keep her footing on the cobbles – as much attention as I have to spare. Which isn’t much at all with all there is to see. Beyond the Priory towers the meads are blossoming; a field of moving colour! I’ve never seen so many tents and banners in so many hues – white, hempen, scarlet, saffron-yellow, emerald and blue, parti-coloured, striped and quartered. Aquitaine, the fairest land in Christendom, has come to England with Duke Richard who was raised there. They say that men in Aquitaine are valued quite as much for penning ballads as for wielding swords, and I can well believe it. Pastimes in Aquitaine include great tournaments like this, and banquets, courts of love and gardens of delight. With Richard come to rule in England, everything will change!
But now we’re down the hill and through the gateway to the river wharf – a powerful smell of fish and tar, the masts of ships above the roofs. And what a beastly clamour – all gabbling in Engleis (ugly, guttural language I’ll never understand it). A man in leather breeches, hairy top-half bare, is calling out some impudence. I have my nose stuck in the air in the best manner of the Countess, but inside have to smile at Hoddie’s answer in the same coarse tongue, and at the laugh that follows.
We’ve so much more of everything than they have, that it’s mean to envy common folk their laughter. But I do.
‘Well really!’ Maman’s observation to no one in particular, but doubtless aimed at me. ‘It’s well I had the forethought to leave our purses with My Lady’s steward. For I swear I’ve never seen so many rogues and vagabonds at liberty together.’
‘Nor
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