her head asked her. That was a fair question, but also a conundrum. Perhaps she might seek out the widowed Scots queen, Marie of Gueldres, and ask for a place in her household. She would tell that queen her history, and say Margaret of Anjou no longer had a place for her now that she was widowed. Certainly the Scots queen would take pity on her. She had skills to offer. She was good with children. She had certain medical knowledge learned from her father that could make her useful. Aye! That is what she would do. She would make her way to wherever the Scots court was currently residing.
Alix prepared the soft chamois pouch her mother had always carried when the court traveled. At its bottom she lay her father’s few surgical instruments and several small containers of medicinals that she had made along with some bags of herbs. Sadly, she could not take her violet damask silk gown with her. She would wear one of her jersey gowns. The other she folded and put into the bottom of the pouch along with her camises, and two night garments. A smaller silk pouch held her few bits of jewelry. She stuffed it at the bottom of the larger bag amid the folds of her gown. She would leave the sollerets, she decided, as she laid her leather house slippers atop her camises. They would only add weight to the pouch, and as long as she had her boots on her feet and her slippers, she could manage. She took two pairs of knitted stockings and stuffed them into the sack. Then, bathing her face and hands and brushing her long hair, Alix went to her bed. Who knew how long it would be before she slept in a clean soft bed again? Whispering her prayers, she asked God to protect her.
It was her habit to always wake early. Arising, she dressed quickly in two camises, one of lawn and the other of flannel. She pulled a pair of woolen stockings onto her feet along with her worn leather boots and drew her brown jersey dress over her slender form. Sitting upon the edge of her bed in the half-dark, half-gray light before the dawn, Alix braided her long hair into a thick plait. Then, lifting the strap of her pouch, she put it over her head to rest against one side of her body. Picking up her heavy wool cloak with its fur-edged hood and her gloves, Alix slipped from her chamber.
The house was completely silent. She knew that very shortly one of the servants would come to start the fires for the day. The cook would arrive in the kitchen to begin his preparations for the day. Alix hurried downstairs, and slipping into the pantry near the kitchen, took a loaf of day-old bread and a wedge of cheese. She tucked them into the top of her pouch and then filled the small stone flask she carried with watered wine. She listened, but the quiet was still deep as she crept quietly towards the kitchen door, which was rarely barred, even at night. It opened as her hand touched the latch. She quickly hurried outside and looked about her, but there was no one in her view.
If she took her horse from the stables they would know that she was gone. Reluctantly, Alix set off walking, hurrying away from the house as fast as she could. The sky was getting a little lighter with each passing minute. She didn’t look back for fear she would see someone. Alix followed the track that led north. The very same one the queen had taken. She prayed that Sir Udolf would not come this way with his hunting party, but if she heard horses she would hide herself in a ditch. Then she laughed softly to herself. The lord of Wulfborn would go across the fields. He would not come upon the road that wound its way north. To her surprise, a weak sun rose as she walked. It was cold, but not unbearably so for November. There was little wind at all and it was at her back, coming from the southwest.
Alix walked for several hours and then suddenly realized that she was hungry and thirsty. Stopping, she sat herself in the grass on the side of the road. Reaching into the pouch beneath her cloak, she pulled a piece
Alix prepared the soft chamois pouch her mother had always carried when the court traveled. At its bottom she lay her father’s few surgical instruments and several small containers of medicinals that she had made along with some bags of herbs. Sadly, she could not take her violet damask silk gown with her. She would wear one of her jersey gowns. The other she folded and put into the bottom of the pouch along with her camises, and two night garments. A smaller silk pouch held her few bits of jewelry. She stuffed it at the bottom of the larger bag amid the folds of her gown. She would leave the sollerets, she decided, as she laid her leather house slippers atop her camises. They would only add weight to the pouch, and as long as she had her boots on her feet and her slippers, she could manage. She took two pairs of knitted stockings and stuffed them into the sack. Then, bathing her face and hands and brushing her long hair, Alix went to her bed. Who knew how long it would be before she slept in a clean soft bed again? Whispering her prayers, she asked God to protect her.
It was her habit to always wake early. Arising, she dressed quickly in two camises, one of lawn and the other of flannel. She pulled a pair of woolen stockings onto her feet along with her worn leather boots and drew her brown jersey dress over her slender form. Sitting upon the edge of her bed in the half-dark, half-gray light before the dawn, Alix braided her long hair into a thick plait. Then, lifting the strap of her pouch, she put it over her head to rest against one side of her body. Picking up her heavy wool cloak with its fur-edged hood and her gloves, Alix slipped from her chamber.
The house was completely silent. She knew that very shortly one of the servants would come to start the fires for the day. The cook would arrive in the kitchen to begin his preparations for the day. Alix hurried downstairs, and slipping into the pantry near the kitchen, took a loaf of day-old bread and a wedge of cheese. She tucked them into the top of her pouch and then filled the small stone flask she carried with watered wine. She listened, but the quiet was still deep as she crept quietly towards the kitchen door, which was rarely barred, even at night. It opened as her hand touched the latch. She quickly hurried outside and looked about her, but there was no one in her view.
If she took her horse from the stables they would know that she was gone. Reluctantly, Alix set off walking, hurrying away from the house as fast as she could. The sky was getting a little lighter with each passing minute. She didn’t look back for fear she would see someone. Alix followed the track that led north. The very same one the queen had taken. She prayed that Sir Udolf would not come this way with his hunting party, but if she heard horses she would hide herself in a ditch. Then she laughed softly to herself. The lord of Wulfborn would go across the fields. He would not come upon the road that wound its way north. To her surprise, a weak sun rose as she walked. It was cold, but not unbearably so for November. There was little wind at all and it was at her back, coming from the southwest.
Alix walked for several hours and then suddenly realized that she was hungry and thirsty. Stopping, she sat herself in the grass on the side of the road. Reaching into the pouch beneath her cloak, she pulled a piece
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