preferred more energetic pursuits that yielded a swifter reward, although at least whilst engaged in weaving and embroidery she could learn the castle gossip and find out whom to cultivate and whom to avoid.
Going to Ida, Mahelt curtseyed. 'My lady mother,' she said. The address still sounded strange in her ears.
Ida kissed her cheek and pinched the edge of Mahelt's silk wimple between finger and thumb. 'This is lovely,' she said.
'It belonged to my grandmother, the Princess Aoife,' Mahelt replied. 'She wore it when she married my grandsire, Richard Strongbow.'
Ida nodded in approval. 'It is good to pass things on through the family.' She gestured to her work, which bore a repeating design of the red and yellow Bigod shield, embellished with gold thread. 'I am making a new belt for the Earl.'
'It is very beautiful.' Mahelt admired Ida's expertise, while hoping she would not be expected to create work to a similar standard.
Ida beamed with pleasure. 'I think so.' A waft of breeze blew through the window aperture and ruffled the wall hangings. Mahelt gave a yearning glance at the arch of light and sniffed the fresh air like a hound.
Ida followed the direction of her gaze. 'Come,' she said with sudden decision. 'I want you to see what lies beyond our walls. At this time of year, fine weather is a gift we should not waste. Besides, I wouldn't want you to think you were a prisoner here.'
Mahelt felt a moment of resonance deep inside as Ida used the word
'prisoner'. The thought of Will as the King's hostage, her parents far away in Ireland, and Hugh absent in Yorkshire gave her a queasy feeling of isolation. Walls were made for protection, but they could confine too. 'I would like that very much, Mother,' she replied.
'Bless you, child.' Ida hugged her. Instructing her women to continue with their work, she sent a messenger to the stables to order the horses saddled. A boy was despatched to tell the Earl she was taking Mahelt to show her the demesne and very soon the women were trotting under the portcullis and taking the path by the mere. They were both well wrapped in warm cloaks and they rode astride as if for hunting rather than using the platform side saddles that would have been correct in formal circumstances.
'It is a long time since I have done this,' Ida said wistfully. 'Indeed, too long.'
Mahelt gazed around, taking pleasure in being out on the demesne instead of just looking at it over the castle wall. 'I used to ride most days when I was at home . . . I mean before I was married.'
If Ida noticed the remark about 'home' and its correction, she gave no sign.
'With your mother?'
'Sometimes, but just as often with my brothers or my father. We'd inspect the demesne together. It was good to breathe the air and it stopped the horses from getting stale.'
A mischievous glint lit in Ida's eyes. 'We own the finest horses in England,'
she said. 'I wouldn't want them to go stale for want of regular exercise.'
Ida and Mahelt eased their mounts from trot to canter as they entered the park. Thickets, coppices and woodland provided cover for the deer, and were dappled with wide grass rides to aid the coursing of hares and create a diversity of habitats. Filled with delight, the women urged the horses to gallop. Mahelt revelled in the feeling of speed, in the wind streaming against her face and the surge of her mare along the ride, clods showering from beneath her hooves. Ida's cheeks were flushed and suddenly she laughed aloud, the sound high and clear, belonging to the ghost of a much younger woman.
At a brook, where the water ran as clear as brown glass, they dismounted to drink from their cupped hands. The hems of their gowns darkened from contact with the stream's edge and their knuckle joints reddened and ached from the pure coldness of the water. The escorting grooms hung back, exchanging glances with each other, causing Ida and Mahelt to giggle.
'Ah,' said Ida. 'We must return here in the
Going to Ida, Mahelt curtseyed. 'My lady mother,' she said. The address still sounded strange in her ears.
Ida kissed her cheek and pinched the edge of Mahelt's silk wimple between finger and thumb. 'This is lovely,' she said.
'It belonged to my grandmother, the Princess Aoife,' Mahelt replied. 'She wore it when she married my grandsire, Richard Strongbow.'
Ida nodded in approval. 'It is good to pass things on through the family.' She gestured to her work, which bore a repeating design of the red and yellow Bigod shield, embellished with gold thread. 'I am making a new belt for the Earl.'
'It is very beautiful.' Mahelt admired Ida's expertise, while hoping she would not be expected to create work to a similar standard.
Ida beamed with pleasure. 'I think so.' A waft of breeze blew through the window aperture and ruffled the wall hangings. Mahelt gave a yearning glance at the arch of light and sniffed the fresh air like a hound.
Ida followed the direction of her gaze. 'Come,' she said with sudden decision. 'I want you to see what lies beyond our walls. At this time of year, fine weather is a gift we should not waste. Besides, I wouldn't want you to think you were a prisoner here.'
Mahelt felt a moment of resonance deep inside as Ida used the word
'prisoner'. The thought of Will as the King's hostage, her parents far away in Ireland, and Hugh absent in Yorkshire gave her a queasy feeling of isolation. Walls were made for protection, but they could confine too. 'I would like that very much, Mother,' she replied.
'Bless you, child.' Ida hugged her. Instructing her women to continue with their work, she sent a messenger to the stables to order the horses saddled. A boy was despatched to tell the Earl she was taking Mahelt to show her the demesne and very soon the women were trotting under the portcullis and taking the path by the mere. They were both well wrapped in warm cloaks and they rode astride as if for hunting rather than using the platform side saddles that would have been correct in formal circumstances.
'It is a long time since I have done this,' Ida said wistfully. 'Indeed, too long.'
Mahelt gazed around, taking pleasure in being out on the demesne instead of just looking at it over the castle wall. 'I used to ride most days when I was at home . . . I mean before I was married.'
If Ida noticed the remark about 'home' and its correction, she gave no sign.
'With your mother?'
'Sometimes, but just as often with my brothers or my father. We'd inspect the demesne together. It was good to breathe the air and it stopped the horses from getting stale.'
A mischievous glint lit in Ida's eyes. 'We own the finest horses in England,'
she said. 'I wouldn't want them to go stale for want of regular exercise.'
Ida and Mahelt eased their mounts from trot to canter as they entered the park. Thickets, coppices and woodland provided cover for the deer, and were dappled with wide grass rides to aid the coursing of hares and create a diversity of habitats. Filled with delight, the women urged the horses to gallop. Mahelt revelled in the feeling of speed, in the wind streaming against her face and the surge of her mare along the ride, clods showering from beneath her hooves. Ida's cheeks were flushed and suddenly she laughed aloud, the sound high and clear, belonging to the ghost of a much younger woman.
At a brook, where the water ran as clear as brown glass, they dismounted to drink from their cupped hands. The hems of their gowns darkened from contact with the stream's edge and their knuckle joints reddened and ached from the pure coldness of the water. The escorting grooms hung back, exchanging glances with each other, causing Ida and Mahelt to giggle.
'Ah,' said Ida. 'We must return here in the
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