“But he is rarely here, my lady.”
“What?”
“That is what I learned from Mildred,” Wilda confided. “A man of war, living in army camps and the like—the conditions here cannot be much different.”
“But, Wilda, what do you mean about his rarely being here?”
“Since he took possession of Crewel, Mildred says, he has been away a great deal.”
“What else did Mildred tell you?” Leonie asked, knowing that Wilda kept very little to herself.
“It seems, my lady,” Wilda began eagerly, “that for all his being given the whole of Kempston by the king, only the gates of Crewel opened to him without a battle, and that was only because Lord Alain had fled and all was confusion here anyway. Do you recall the tourney we heard about?”
“Vaguely,” Leonie replied uneasily.
“Well, that was an excuse to gather the Kempstonvassals and castellans in one place so they could swear allegiance to their new lord.”
“I see,” Leonie mused aloud. “Instead of being summoned one by one. A lone man might refuse and simply lock himself in his keep.”
“Indeed, that is what Mildred said,” Wilda said, proud of her lady. “And they did all come, but not to swear! All seven attacked Sir Rolfe, then fled.”
Now Leonie understood what she had witnessed that day. She was disgusted that Sir Edmond’s vassals would behave so despicably, even if motivated by fear. They hadn’t even given Rolfe a chance to prove himself.
“What did my husband do after the attack?”
“He besieged all seven keeps.”
“How…seven? Does he have enough men for that?”
Wilda shrugged. “How many men does it take to besiege a keep? Pershwick has never—”
“I know, I know,” Leonie interrupted impatiently, her mind elsewhere. She was amazed. It was an impossible task, for one must close up all seven keeps at once, in order to keep one from helping another. That would surely take thousands of men. But such a large force so near Pershwick would have been reported to her. Yet she had heard of nothing like that.
“Are you sure you heard correctly, Wilda? Could it not be that my husband is just making war ononeof the Kempston keeps?”
“No, my lady. Four of the keeps are already won. Wroth is now under siege, and the others are closed, awaiting his orders.”
Leonie was realizing what all this fighting would mean. “I will not see much of my husband for many months, then, will I?”
“That should ease your mind.”
Leonie smiled to herself as Wilda went to fetch hera bliaut. The maid believed she still detested this marriage.
“Wilda,” she called, “I want to wear my best today, the blue silk we got from the French merchant.”
“But you only wear that for very special occasions. You even refused—”
“I know. I did not think my wedding was special enough, but now I want to wear it.”
Wilda did not argue, and Leonie was strangely silent as the maid laced her into the long-sleeved dark blue chemise. Over this was placed the wine-colored bliaut of Spanish wool. It was slit up the sides to reveal the dark blue chemise beneath, and its bell-like sleeves were heavily embroidered. The bliaut was lovely, molded to her body in the current fashion, with silver embroidery around the high neckline. The girdle, worn loose around the waist, was made from strands of silver cord, and it trailed to her knees.
Leonie left her silver hair loose, and thick locks of it fell over her breasts as her braids usually did. A silver cord circled her head, holding in place a small square of white linen. She completed the costume with soft leather shoes over blue woolen stockings.
“Do I look like a lady befitting my lord’s station?” Leonie ventured with a little smile.
“You do indeed.” Wilda smiled back, delighted that she had played a part in making her lady so beautiful.
“Then let us hide in here no longer. We will have much to do in the next few weeks, so we must begin our work.”
