Romance
Read an excerpt from The Border Lord and The Lady (continued):
"A bit of fresh gilt, my lord," Orva assured him, "and 'twill be fine."
"My daughter should have a real gold caul, and some bits of good jewelry," the earl noted. "I will see to it."
"Remember, my lord, she is still a little girl. Perhaps a strand of pearls, and two or three rings. As she grows older you will gift her," Orva advised.
Several days later Robert Bowen brought his daughter a beautiful long strand of pearls, several gold rings decorated with brightly colored gemstones or pearls, a fine golden caul, and a gold headband with an oval piece of green malachite in its center. And when another week had passed he arrived with a beautiful dappled gray mare with a black mane and tail for Cicely, and a sturdy chestnut gelding for Orva.
The weeks flew by, and then it was Midsummer's eve. There was dancing, and there were games, drinking of sweet honeyed mead, and bonfires on the hillsides. In just a few more days Lady Cicely Bowen would be leaving her childhood home to be fostered by the widowed Queen Joan. The new king, rumor had it, was preparing for war against France. It would be an exciting time to be at court.
On the morning before her departure Cicely slipped from the cottage. Orva was busy finishing the packing, and would not consider where her little mistress had gone; nor would she worry about it, for Cicely was completely safe on Leighton lands. Walking across the fields Cicely made her way to her father's gardens, and secreted herself within a large hedge. And then the three nursemaids came, bringing with them her three little half brothers. She watched them silently, smiling at the antics of the two elder, wishing she might be allowed to play with them. Charles looked like their father, she was happy to see. The other two favored both their parents. Finally she could sit no longer.
"Farewell, little brothers," she whispered softly. "I doubt we will ever meet again. May God and his blessed Mother protect you all. Bring honor to Leighton." Then Lady Cicely Bowen crept quietly from her father's gardens, making her way back across the fields to the cottage where she had spent all of her life.
"Where were you?" Orva asked her when she entered.
"Out walking, and saying my farewells to Leighton," the little girl answered. "I still wish we didn't have to go. Oh, I know the great advantage this is for me, for my family, but I should have been content to remain here forever."
Orva sighed. "I know," she sympathized. "This has been my home for all my life too, and now I wonder if I will ever see it again, my little lady." She sighed again but then said, "Still, it is a great adventure we are about to embark upon. It could be worse. Your father's wife could have convinced him to put you in a convent for the rest of your days."
"I would have made a very bad nun," Cicely said, giggling.
"So would I," Orva agreed with a chuckle.
"Do you think my father will come to say good-bye, Orva?" Cicely wondered.
"Did he not tell you, child? Oh! Perhaps he meant for it to be a surprise," the serving woman said. "Your father is to escort us to Havering-atte-Bower."
Cicely clapped her small hands together with delight. "Ohh, we shall have time together before he leaves me. I am so glad!" She danced about the room.
Orva smiled to see the child happy. This sudden change in Cicely's life was a difficult one to make for a child so young. Orva prayed silently that all would be well, and that her little mistress would be happy in Queen Joan's household. She hoped the earl's daughter would find a friend among the other little maidens certain to be there. She slept restlessly that night—the last night in the cottage she considered her home. The earl had assured her the cottage would be there for her when Cicely was grown and no longer needed her. It was the one comfort she had in all of this great change.
The following day dawned gray and gloomy. Certainly not the most hopeful sign, Orva thought as she directed the loading of the trunks onto the baggage cart. It would take them a week to reach Queen Joan's residence, which was some fifteen miles east of London. The earl had sent word ahead to four convents and three monasteries requesting shelter for his party. Each night they would stop at a religious guesthouse, where they would be given a bed and two meals in the safety of the establishment's sturdy walls. They would travel with a dozen men-at-arms from Leighton to keep them, and Cicely's baggage cart with all her new gowns and other worldly possessions, safe.
They had traveled no more than a few miles when the rain began, and it continued for the next two days. The earl had wisely considered that they would travel slowly, and so, while uncomfortable, they were able to reach the convent in which they would stay the night. The mother superior was impressed that Lady Cicely was to be fostered by the king's stepmother.
"You are aware, though, my lord, of the rumors about Queen Joan, aren't you?" the nun asked the earl.
"What rumors?" Robert Bowen inquired nervously. Were all his plans for his daughter to come to naught?
"Some say the lady practices witchcraft, my lord, although King Henry does not give such chatter credence," the mother superior murmured.
"Why would anyone say that?" the earl wondered aloud.
"Well, my lord, her kingly father in Navarre was called 'the Bad.' And then she lived in Brittany for many years, and all know that witchcraft is practiced there. And then there is the fact that while she bore her first husband, the Duke of Brittany, nine children, and our own late king had six with Lady Mary before she died and he succeeded to England's throne, together the king and Queen Joan produced no progeny. Both were young enough to do so. So why were there no more children?"
"Perhaps because of their large families their marriage was by choice a celibate one," the earl suggested. "As I recall Queen Joan brought her two younger daughters with her when she came from Brittany, Reverend Mother, and they needed her attention. But as I am not a part of the court circle my opinion on the matter would be worthless."
The nun smiled archly. "Your little girl is very fortunate, my lord," she said.
It rained the next day as well, and the monastery guesthouse they stayed in the second night was very sparse, the supper and meal the following morning scant. But when they awoke the third morning the sky had turned blue and the sun was shining. The weather held for the rest of their journey, and late in the afternoon of the seventh day they reached the village of Havering-atte-Bower, and Queen Joan's residence. The queen, however, was not there. She would be arriving on the morrow, the steward said, with Lady Joan Beaufort. He could not admit the queen's new fosterling until she arrived.
Anticipating that he might need a seventh night of shelter, the Earl of Leighton had arranged it in the guesthouse of a small but prosperous convent just outside of the village. The mother superior herself welcomed them, smiling. She was quite unlike their hostess on that first night on the road.
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