The Fall of the Templars by Robyn Young

Author:Robyn Young
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-03-31T08:15:20+00:00

Château Vincennes, the Kingdom of France,

June 20, 1303 ad

Rose drew the comb through the queen’s thick black hair. Now and then, the teeth snagged on tiny knots and she slowed the movement, working the tangles apart until the comb carried on through. Jeanne’s face floated in the mirror, like the moon in a pool. Her eyes were closed, giving Rose an opportunity to study her. The queen had been unusually subdued since they arrived at the château two weeks ago. Rose had sensed a strain between her and the king, who had been away on campaign and hadn’t wanted his wife to join him. Jeanne’s face was pale in the sunlight coming through the window and Rose could see a prominent dusting of black hair across her upper lip. Marguerite had delicately offered to use the tweezers on it, but the queen had brushed aside the suggestion.

Jeanne had always been more concerned about books and learning than the same chores of beauty other noblewomen in the court seemed to spend their lives performing: buying perfumed soaps, ivory combs and sparkling necklaces from Venetian traders in the markets, admiring one another’s gowns in the hallways then talking snidely behind one another’s backs at dinner in the Great Hall. As a handmaiden, important enough to be in the same chambers as these noble ladies, but unimportant enough not to be noticed, Rose heard it all. Marguerite and the other girls used their status as the queen’s attendants to charm trinkets out of Jeanne, so they could play at being princesses, floating about like pretty, flimsy butterflies, provoking the attention of eligible lords and officials. Rose, more invisible than the others, had once spotted Blanche with one of the steward’s aides in a gloomy corridor of the palace. She had been pressed to a wall, the aide pushed against her, his mouth on her neck and his hand up her bunched dress. Blanche’s head had been twisted to the side, the expression on her flushed face somewhere between ecstasy and embarrassment.

“I wonder what they have caught on the hunt.”

Rose gave a start, realizing the queen’s eyes were open and she was staring at her.

“I heard Sir Henri say there could be boar,” answered Marguerite, bustling around the room, gathering the queen’s garments and handing them to Blanche, who placed them dutifully on the bed. “What do you wish to wear at the feast tonight, madam?”

“You choose.”

In the mirror, Rose saw Marguerite smile.

“I think the red and the gold. Yes. That will look beautiful.” Marguerite’s smile widened. “The king will not be able to take his eyes off you.”

Rose noticed Marguerite’s gaze dart to her, the handmaiden’s face becoming hostile. She wondered what the look meant, but was distracted as the queen spoke.

“Leave me for a moment. I wish to speak to Rose.”

Rose’s puzzlement gave way to unease.

“Of course, madam,” said Marguerite. Throwing another look, this one almost triumphant, in Rose’s direction, she left, hustling Blanche and the three other handmaidens in front of her.

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