The Falcons of Montabard

The Falcons of Montabard by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

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Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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against the green of the cup. The stone was not just cool but icy in her hands and felt wonderful.
    'Sherbet,' said Margaret. 'The wine here is excellent, but it is better to drink such as this in the heat of the day.'
    Annais took a sip and recoiled at the assault on her palate -sour, frozen, but with an underlying tang of sweetness. She had encountered lemon a couple of times in her life - once at a banquet at Branton to celebrate her cousin's knighthood where strips of rind had been served in a curd cake, and once in Spain on their journey here when it had been squeezed into honey and water and all that she had been able to keep down. But neither had prepared her for this sharp intensity of flavour.
    'You do not like it?' Margaret asked, watching her.
    'Oh . . . no. It is wonderful, but strange.' Annais sipped again, relishing the cold on her tongue and the way the little ice crystals melted against the roof of her mouth. 'Where do you get the ice from when it is so hot outside?'
    'It is brought down from the mountains by donkey and camel trains and stored in deep pits in the ground, insulated by hides and hay. Of course it is a luxury and Fergus grumbles about the cost, but not so much that he will give it up.' She chuckled heartily. 'Nor would I let him.'
    Annais drank and drank again, beginning to revel in the tastes and the textures. The lady Mariamne closed the lid of her coffer and returned with a gown over her arm. Russet silk, scalloped with gold embroidery, shimmered across her arm. 'We are much of a size,' she said diffidently. 'See if this gown will fit you until you can find something more suitable.'
    Annais stared at the fabric. It shone like a still pond at sunset
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    or the hide of a sorrel horse at noonday. No one had gowns like that in England unless they were of the noblest rank. The Prioress at Coldingham would have looked upon the garment with censorious eyes. 'My lady, I cannot. Surely it is your best gown.'
    Mariamne FitzPeter looked mildly amused. 'For certain it is not my workaday dress,' she said, 'but I have more and finer. Here in Outremer people dress differently. Robed as you are, you might be mistaken for a peasant.'
    The words were spoken with a smile, but Annais did not miss the slight narrowing of the lovely eyes. Like a cat, there were claws and they were ready to scratch. 'It is very generous of you, my lady, thank you.'
    Mariamne gave a little shrug that asked what else could she have done in the circumstances. 'I am glad to be of help. You will need a headdress too.'
    'I have one that will suit,' Margaret said quickly, keen not to be outdone.
    Annais found herself stripped of her linen gown and under -shift. At first she tried to stop them, but the women were so matter-of-fact about the process and so determined to have their way that it became easier to yield.
    'You're not in England now,' Margaret said briskly as she tossed Annais's shift and gown into a basket. 'You will find that people bathe here far more often than they do back at home. It cools the blood and we have enough stenches with which to contend without adding to them.'
    'But don't the priests object?'
    Margaret snorted. 'Most of them are first in line at the bathhouses,' she said, 'those who don't have baths in their own homes.'
    The serving woman brought a bowl of tepid water that had been scented with a few precious drops of rose oil and Annais was lightly sponged down. The feel of the water drying on her skin was heavenly and a slight breeze filtering through the latticed shutters only added to the pleasure of the sensation.
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    Her hair was unbraided and that too was sponged before being secured again in two plaits.
    'I married Fergus after my first husband died of a flux,' Margaret said as she helped Annais to don a light cotton chemise, 'so I did not know him in the days when he and your father were together. He often spoke of his cousin Edmund though, and of Edmund's strength and fortitude.' She tied the chemise

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