There were people everywhere, animals too. And so much noise it had been impossible to take it all in.
More noise was coming in from the window, arrows hitting targets, pigs snuffling, laughter, shouting.
Marion had brought her into a bedchamber. In the middle of the room was the bed, a thick feather mattress with expensive looking satin sheets. On top were linen blankets in plain white.
There was other furniture but it was very basic. Two wooden chairs, a small table by the window containing sewing and parchment. Also a couple of candlesticks sat either side of the bed, unlit.
As she examined each item in turn, Marion opened a wardrobe by the fireplace, reaching inside and bringing out several outfits. "This will probably fit you best," she said, laying her choice of clothes out on the bed. "Come, then I shall fix that mess of hair of yours."
"What’s wrong with this dress?" Rose replied.
"Covered in filth," Marion said, picking up a white length of fabric. "You need stockings too, no good Christian should be seen without them.
She knelt with some effort, holding the end of a thick woolen stocking by Rose's foot. "Lift. That's it. Now pull."
Rose pulled the stocking up her leg, finding it stopped just above the knee. There was a loose thread at the top, and she almost snapped it off before Marion stopped her. "That’s to tie it in place. Can you make a knot?"
Rose nodded, doing as she was bid before applying the second piece of hose to her left leg. Once they were both in place, Marion stood again, picking up a long flowing dress of deep blue. "This is new from Flanders. The latest style. I believe it will suit you well. It's called a bliaut. Remove that one first.
Do not fear your nakedness. I have seen dozens of women with not a stitch on them in my time."
Reluctantly, Rose pulled the dress over her head.
"You have pale skin and good teeth," Marion said, examining her as she climbed into the bliaut. "Not a scar on you. Never had the pox as a child?"
"No."
"You are lucky. Most do not go this many years without catching it."
The fabric felt softer than Rose expected. It sagged at the elbows, leaving enormous dangling split sleeves.
"The clasps hold it around the wrists," Marion said, attaching rings of gold to her sleeves. "There." She began wrapping a belt around Rose's waist. "Some women need two girdles, but I think one will suffice for you are quite tall."
"A girdle?" Rose asked, looking down at the golden belt. "That's a girdle? Looks like a belt."
"Is that what they call it where you're from?"
"I guess so."
"Now, how does it sit with you inside? The girdle hold everything in?"
Spinning around a few times, Rose smiled broadly. "It feels wonderful. Warmer than I was expecting."
"Tuck a length of bliaut into the girdle, or it will drag in the mud when you step outside."
Once that was done, she passed boots of soft leather.
"There," Marion said when she was finished. "You look like a respectable lady at last. Do you like it?"
"I like the tartan," Rose said, running her hand along the embroidered neckline.
"We need to sort your hair out. Sit by the window."
Rose sat and looked out while Marion stood behind her.
"What's that you’ve got?" Rose asked, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Have you not seen a barbette before?"
