Isabella, Queen Without a Conscience by Bard Rachel

Author:Bard, Rachel [Bard, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Book Publishers Network
Published: 2014-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Hugh le Brun

1206

Isabella sent me a message when I was imprisoned at Caen Castle. It came shortly after William des Roches had arranged for me to move up from my dreadful subterranean cell. I took the letter from the messenger, recognized Isabella’s handwriting and read it hastily. She said she was sorry at my imprisonment and she hoped I wouldn’t think she had anything to do with it. I was overcome. What a risk she’d taken, to write to me! What if John had found out? But Isabella had never lacked for bravery.

In all the time since I’d lost her, I’d done my best not to think about her. I’d concentrated instead on my hatred of John and my determination to have vengeance. But with her letter all the memories came flooding back: the happy days we’d known together, the pleasure we took in each other’s company, the look on her face when we met after an absence. I had to admit to myself that I’d never stopped loving her. Did she too still hold those memories? Her letter gave no clue.

In the days to come, after my release, she’d often been on my mind. I longed to see her again.

I heard that she was to be at Angoulême in the autumn of 1206 to receive the homage of the vassals of her late father. I decided to go see her.

I hadn’t been to Angoulême for six years, not since that strange meeting with Count Aymer when he and Countess Alix persuaded me to marry Mathilde. Good Mathilde! She was still bedridden, still uncomplaining, still willing to listen when I had something on my mind. Often she surprised me with her grasp of affairs and her advice.

Though I don’t doubt she’d have wished me well if I’d told her where I was going, I didn’t do so. Why risk giving pain to one who already bore so many burdens? I simply said I’d be away a few days.

Nor did I send word to Isabella that I was coming.

I rode through thick fog all morning. When I reached Angoulême about noon, it was like a mysterious shrouded city where I’d never been. In the palace courtyard everything looked ghostly. I could vaguely see, off to one side, blurred figures of men and horses near the stables. A man came from the garden bearing big pots of carnations that he carefully arranged on the steps by the massive door. I caught a whiff of their spicy aroma as soon as I dismounted. The low-lying fog didn’t conceal the top of the tower where the pennant of the Taillefers waved languidly and damply. That meant that either Countess Alix or her daughter was in residence. Or maybe both.

I was announced and told to wait in the entry hall, a long narrow room with benches along both walls and rushes on the floor. Count Aymer had never been one to waste his money on unnecessary amenities. A stairway at the end led up to the family’s living quarters, presumably more warm and welcoming.

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