Vitry’s house; pushing open the door, the sprawled corpses, those crossbow bolts embedded deep in their flesh. I flew down the gallery.
‘Mathilde!’ I heard Isabella cry out; she must have thought I was fleeing. At the end of the gallery stood an unlocked aumbry containing arms: bows and arrows, poles and spears, and what I was looking for, a small arbalest. Even as I grasped it and the quiver of quarrels, I wondered if the assassin who’d slipped into de Vitry’s house had had something similar: small crossbows, perhaps two or three already primed in a sack. I ran back down the gallery, throwing myself through the half-opened door, then slammed it shut and leaned against it. Sweat soaked me. Isabella, still seated on the chair, watched me intently. I pointed at the narrow cot bed I slept in, then primed the arbalest, sliding a quarrel in, winching back the cord.
‘You’ve done that before, Mathilde?’ Isabella murmured.
‘My uncle.’ I paused. ‘Yes.’ I smiled bleakly. ‘I used to go hunting, as I will tonight.’
Isabella rose from her chair and climbed into bed.
I went round the chamber, extinguishing the candles, then lay down on the cot. I listened to the noise of the palace and heard a creak along the gallery outside. The door opened, and two figures slipped in. They ignored me and raced across the chamber. The light was poor but I could make out the shapes; Louis and Philippe had come to abuse their sister. No guard stood outside; no attempt was made to stop them. Louis threw himself onto the bed. I heard Isabella’s stifled screams as his hand went across her mouth. I slid from the cot bed; Philippe turned. I brought up the arbalest, aimed and loosed, immediately putting another quarrel in the slot and winding back the cord. The first bolt smacked into the wall beside the princess’s bed almost hitting the window.
‘Get out!’ I screamed. I even lapsed into the soldier’s patois my uncle had taught me. The princess leapt out of one side of the bed. She wrapped her cloak about her and moved towards me. Both intruders were drunk, swaying on their feet; I could smell their wine-drenched breath even from where I stood.
‘Who are you?’ Louis lurched forward, lower lip protruding, eyes bleary. Philippe was so drunk he slumped down on the end of the bed.
‘I am Mathilde de Clairebon,’ I replied, ‘ dame de chambre for your sister, appointed solely to look after her. My lords, she does not want you here. You must go!’
‘And what if . . .’ Louis made to take another step. I raised the arbalest, ‘what if . . .’ he stood back, swaying, ‘we do not wish to leave?’
‘Then, my lord, like any knight, I would do what my duty to your sister, to the king and to God requires. Perhaps the king’s court will decide whether I did wrong or not.’ I’d plotted this as I lay in the dark, waiting for them to come.
Philippe lurched to his feet, wiping his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve.
‘I want to get out.’ He hurried past me into the gallery to retch and vomit.
Louis stood, hands on hips.
‘And if we return?’
‘If you return, my lord, I assure you of this: I will write certain letters and lodge them with people I trust in Paris. Should this happen again, copies of those letters will go to His Holiness in Avignon, not to mention the King of England! I leave it to you what your father would think of that.’
Louis shook his head, lust burning like fire in his eyes. For a few heartbeats he considered attacking me. I took a step back, allowing him to leave. He sighed noisily, brushed past me but turned at the door.
‘Mathilde de Clairebon,’ he pointed a finger at me, ‘I shall not forget you.’
‘My lord, I thank you for the compliment. Rest assured, I shall always remember you!’
Louis left, slamming the door behind him. I could hear his hoarse whisperings to Philippe out in the gallery, then their footsteps faded. I immediately took a chair, brought it across and
‘Mathilde!’ I heard Isabella cry out; she must have thought I was fleeing. At the end of the gallery stood an unlocked aumbry containing arms: bows and arrows, poles and spears, and what I was looking for, a small arbalest. Even as I grasped it and the quiver of quarrels, I wondered if the assassin who’d slipped into de Vitry’s house had had something similar: small crossbows, perhaps two or three already primed in a sack. I ran back down the gallery, throwing myself through the half-opened door, then slammed it shut and leaned against it. Sweat soaked me. Isabella, still seated on the chair, watched me intently. I pointed at the narrow cot bed I slept in, then primed the arbalest, sliding a quarrel in, winching back the cord.
‘You’ve done that before, Mathilde?’ Isabella murmured.
‘My uncle.’ I paused. ‘Yes.’ I smiled bleakly. ‘I used to go hunting, as I will tonight.’
Isabella rose from her chair and climbed into bed.
I went round the chamber, extinguishing the candles, then lay down on the cot. I listened to the noise of the palace and heard a creak along the gallery outside. The door opened, and two figures slipped in. They ignored me and raced across the chamber. The light was poor but I could make out the shapes; Louis and Philippe had come to abuse their sister. No guard stood outside; no attempt was made to stop them. Louis threw himself onto the bed. I heard Isabella’s stifled screams as his hand went across her mouth. I slid from the cot bed; Philippe turned. I brought up the arbalest, aimed and loosed, immediately putting another quarrel in the slot and winding back the cord. The first bolt smacked into the wall beside the princess’s bed almost hitting the window.
‘Get out!’ I screamed. I even lapsed into the soldier’s patois my uncle had taught me. The princess leapt out of one side of the bed. She wrapped her cloak about her and moved towards me. Both intruders were drunk, swaying on their feet; I could smell their wine-drenched breath even from where I stood.
‘Who are you?’ Louis lurched forward, lower lip protruding, eyes bleary. Philippe was so drunk he slumped down on the end of the bed.
‘I am Mathilde de Clairebon,’ I replied, ‘ dame de chambre for your sister, appointed solely to look after her. My lords, she does not want you here. You must go!’
‘And what if . . .’ Louis made to take another step. I raised the arbalest, ‘what if . . .’ he stood back, swaying, ‘we do not wish to leave?’
‘Then, my lord, like any knight, I would do what my duty to your sister, to the king and to God requires. Perhaps the king’s court will decide whether I did wrong or not.’ I’d plotted this as I lay in the dark, waiting for them to come.
Philippe lurched to his feet, wiping his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve.
‘I want to get out.’ He hurried past me into the gallery to retch and vomit.
Louis stood, hands on hips.
‘And if we return?’
‘If you return, my lord, I assure you of this: I will write certain letters and lodge them with people I trust in Paris. Should this happen again, copies of those letters will go to His Holiness in Avignon, not to mention the King of England! I leave it to you what your father would think of that.’
Louis shook his head, lust burning like fire in his eyes. For a few heartbeats he considered attacking me. I took a step back, allowing him to leave. He sighed noisily, brushed past me but turned at the door.
‘Mathilde de Clairebon,’ he pointed a finger at me, ‘I shall not forget you.’
‘My lord, I thank you for the compliment. Rest assured, I shall always remember you!’
Louis left, slamming the door behind him. I could hear his hoarse whisperings to Philippe out in the gallery, then their footsteps faded. I immediately took a chair, brought it across and
Similar Books
