“And no more gambling dens. Swear this to me.”
Kress sighed sharply. “Aye, my lord.”
William knew that Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Bric were all men of their words but, somehow, on this day before they were to undertake an extremely important mission, he realized that he wouldn’t be at all surprised if they broke their promises to varying degrees. A last day of freedom, a last night to enjoythe decadence of London, before duty gave the call. As they were heading out the door, William muttered in resignation.
“As long as there are no more knights seeking their clothing at my door, then I suppose you can do as you wish. You will, anyway. But I do not want to know about it.”
He could hear Kress laughing as the man quit the solar.
CHAPTER TWO
Lynn, Norfolk (also called Bishop’s Lynn, or King’s Lynn)
Near St. Margaret’s Cathedral
It was abright new day that had hardly been touched, with birds flying across the expanse of blue overhead and nesting in the great steeple of St. Margaret’s Church. It was just afterSext, or midday prayers, and while the peasants were filtering out of the church having bared their souls to God, there was a flurry of servants for noblewomen, both young and old, heading for the rear of the church where the entrance to the cloister was located.
They were heading there for a purpose.
Of course, the noblewomen themselves wouldn’t dare rush for this purpose. It was all about piety and propriety with them. Therefore, it was the servants that did the scurrying around to the north side where there was a gate that led into the graveyard and beyond that, the cloister.
A cleric was waiting at the gate, shielded from the view of the church behind brick walls and overgrown trees. He waited there with a stack of painted, wooden cards in his hands. They looked like prayer cards, but that was deceptive. These were not prayercards; they were far more sinful. Servants rushed him, handing him two pence, which was the price. Once a month, the wooden cards would be waiting and it was first come, first served.
No one wanted to miss out.
On the corner across from the gate, three women stood watching the rush of servants and the frantic exchange of money. Two of the women were rather young while a third was a little older and taller. They were watching the activity curiously, and perhaps with some glee, as servants scuffled across the dirt street and practically knocked the cleric over in their haste. They paid their money and rushed away with their painted card, hiding it as they moved.
These were an illicit indulgence for their ladies.
“So many servants,” one of the women gasped as she watched the flurry of servants. “How many cards were there this time, Cadie?”
She was speaking to the woman standing next to her, a woman with long, blonde hair and eyes as dark as night. Cadelyn of Vendotia had pale skin, like cream, and people had told her on more than one occasion that she looked like an angel, if angels had walked the earth. Pretty didn’t quite encompass the woman; magnificent was more like it. Magnificent, headstrong, and brilliant.
And very, very naughty.
“We had nearly one hundred,” she whispered excitedly. “Think on it, Lel; think on the money we shall make!”
Her friend, Lily-Elsie, or Lel as she was called, nodded giddily and the two of them grinned like fools. But the third woman in the group stood behind them, watching the flurry of money-throwing servants, and shook her head reproachfully.
“Cards of lewd poetry disguised to look like prayer cards,” she muttered. “And people pay money for these things. Thewomen of this town are sinful deviants hiding behind fine silks and fine families.”
Cadelyn turned to the woman. “That may be true, but their deviant indulgences have made a good deal of money for the clerics and for me,” she said defiantly. “You do not read the poetry, Susanna, so you have no place to criticize it.”
Susanna de Tiegh lifted a dark eyebrow. “Rest assured that I will never read it, but I most certainly will criticize the hypocrisy I am witnessing.”
Cadelyn fought off a grin at her prudish friend. “Do not judge lest you be judged,” she said as she returned her attention to the clamoring throng. “But I agree with you; you should not read my poetry. It might make you feel something and God only knows, we do not want you to feel anything. Or think anything out of the ordinary. Keep thinking like everyone else, Susie. You will be nothing more than what you are.”
Susanna eyed Cadelyn, her willful young friend. Or, more to the truth, her willful young assignment. Cadelyn was nearing twenty years now and Susanna had been with her for nearly ten years. She’d watched a brilliant, impish young girl grow into a woman whose mere presence commanded respect and awe.
There was something about Cadelyn of Vendotia that made one stand up and take notice.
In the first place, she was clever… oh, so clever… in every way. She had taken to her studies at a young age and now was perhaps one of the most educated young women in all of England. She could speak four languages, do mathematics in her head, recite most of the bible from memory, and a host of other accomplished things. And in the second place, there was her gift for poetry…
God help them all, her lustful, sinful poetry.
Susanna couldn’t have stopped Cadelyn from writing that tawdry prose had she tried. Night after night, when her dutiesfor the day at Castle Rising were finished, Cadelyn sat up in her bower and wrote indecent verses of love and passion.
At first, it had been a hobby, a hobby that saw the first few poems thrown in the fire by Lady Summerlin, Cadelyn’s liege’s wife. Lady Summerlin had been incensed at the indecency of it all and that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. After that, Cadelyn grew smart about hiding her work, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She wanted todosomething with it.
