The Stolen Queen Read online

  ‘But Maman, why did Pressine put such a wicked charm on her daughter, if she loved her so?’

  ‘Because sometimes mothers have to do very difficult things if they believe they are right. Melusina was different from other girls: she was a fairy. So her mother knew that only by obeying fairy laws could she keep her daughter safe. Shall we see what happened?’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘Well then, Melusina set off alone, and she travelled through many forests and many mountains until she came here, to Poitou. The fairies were very happy. They had been expecting her and wanted to make her their queen. They came to dance with her in the woods at Colombiers,’ she would continue.

  Now she was arriving at the part that I liked best. ‘Tell me about the changeling, Maman. And the murders!’

  ‘Are you telling this story, or I? Now, in the forest that very day was Raymond, the lord of Lusignan. Raymond was unhappy, because he had accidentally committed a crime. He had been hunting with his uncle, and as they bearded the boar, it had turned aside on Lord Raymond’s spear and plunged its deadly tusk into his uncle’s flesh and killed him stone dead. As Raymond wandered sadly through the forest, he saw Melusina, who was so beautiful that he fell in love with her at once. Only by marrying him, he swore, could Melusina be so kind as to assuage the wound in his heart, which was likely to be as fatal as the boar’s tusk. Melusina said that she would surely marry him, upon the condition that he never looked upon her on a Saturday. Raymond agreed, and so they were married.

  ‘Then Melusina had the fairies build a great castle near to the spring where they had met, but she warned Raymond that if he broke his promise she would leave him and they would both be very unhappy. Raymond was so ensorcelled by Melusina’s loveliness that he did not even care when their first-born son, Geoffrey Spike-Tooth, was born with a boar’s tusk protruding from his upper lip. But Geoffrey was as ugly inside as he was on the outside. He was cruel to everyone in the castle, but most of all he hated his younger brother who was very holy and pious and had gone to live with the monks in the abbey at Malliers. Geoffrey Spike-Tooth was also jealous of his parents’ happiness, and he plotted against Melusina. He decided to spy upon her in her privacy on a Saturday.

  ‘On that day, Melusina would shut herself up in her rooms, taking no food or drink, allowing no one to attend on her from dawn until sunset. She had a great bath in her chamber, and filling it was the last task her maids were permitted before their mistress retired. So Geoffrey Spike-Tooth disguised his ugly features in a plain gown and a hood, and carried a jug into Melusina’s rooms as the maids brought the water, then he hid himself under the bathtub and waited, spying out under the bath cloth.

  ‘When Melusina got up from her bed and lowered herself into the bath at dawn and the first ray of the sun crept through the window, her legs were transformed into a serpent’s tail, all blue and silver scales. All day the wicked son lay under the bath while the fairy splashed in the waters and, at nightfall, when Melusina walked back to her bed and called for her maids, he escaped and rushed straight to Count Raymond. When the count learned the truth, he did not rage and turn his wife away, as Geoffrey Spike-Tooth expected, but grieved, because now that he knew the truth he risked losing his beloved wife forever.

  ‘Enraged at the failure of his plan, Geoffrey Spike-Tooth travelled to the abbey at Malliers and set it on fire. The good monks and his own holy brother were burned. Melusina heard this dreadful news and rushed to her husband’s chamber to comfort him. But now, the story says, my little one, that the poor afflicted father was convinced that the fairy’s curse was on his family, and he accused poor Melusina before all the courtiers.’

  My mother would draw herself up tall and make her voice very deep and stern.

  ‘Out of my sight, thou pernicious snake and odious serpent! Thou contaminator of my race!’

  ‘Oh Maman!’ I would burst. ‘And then?’

  ‘Then, Melusina was so shocked that she fell down in a faint but when she awakened, she solemnly told her husband that she must leave him, just as her own mother Pressine had left her father the king for the breaking of his word. Her fate was to wander about the world forever, invisible as a spirit. Only when one of her own fairy kind died at Lusignan would she become visible again.’

  ‘And now the curse!’ I would shriek, delighted at the deliciously terrifying climax of the story.

  ‘And now I must depart from you, faithless husband, that thou, and those who succeed thee for more than a hundred years shall know that whenever I am seen, hovering over the castle of Lusignan, then it will be certain that in that very year the castle shall have a new lord. And though people may not perceive me in the air, they will see me by the fountain, especially on the Friday before the lord of the castle shall die …’

  *

  And so, like every child in Poitou, I knew the story of the Lusignan ancestress, the serpent-woman Melusina. She haunted this same castle, flapping round the battlements on stormy nights, protecting her descendants with her demonish powers. But if ever she was seen, it meant death to the Lusignan lord.

  They are black, the Lusignan men. Their hair is the colour of the river in winter, sucking the light around them, their tip-tilted almond eyes like nuggets of charcoal in sallow, horn-tinted skin. And they are tall. So tall that when Lord Hugh stepped down from the dais in his hall to greet us after our journey my father’s head only reached his shoulder. My father had put off his hauberk as he dismounted, to show that he came in peace to his old enemy, and Lord Hugh, also, wore no armour. But where my father’s mantle was travel-stained wool, bunching over his round belly and gathering under his red beard, which fell to his chest, Lord Hugh wore white silk, spotless as an altar cloth, and a short green cloak clasped at one shoulder with a huge gold brooch shaped like a serpent, and his shaven face was all clean, hard planes. A little behind him stood his son, Hal, nearly as tall but narrow and gangling, a sapling next to his father’s massive oak, with the same pitchy hair falling fashionably long, the tips curling to touch his soft, sulky mouth.

  The Lusignans and the Taillefers had always been enemies, for my father was King Richard’s man, defending his lands against the rebellious lords who sought to chip away at the empire of the English king while he was in the Holy Land. But now, my mother had explained as we bumped along in the litter, the leathery smell of the curtains wafting over us, the Lusignans were our allies, ever since King Richard had made Lusignan knights kings in Cyprus for their service on Crusade, and a marriage, my marriage, between our houses, would seal our loyalties and protect our lands together under the leopard flag of the Angevin kings. It had been King Richard’s wish that a match be made, before he was struck down by a crossbow wound in his shoulder and died without children, leaving his crown and his dukedoms of Normandy and Aquitaine to his brother John. At least, that was what she told me then.

  It seemed unreal to me, all this squabbling about lands, and yet at the same time it had always been as much a part of my life as hearing Mass or doing my lessons. Fighting was what men did – they rode out as soon as the roads were clear in the spring and returned with the fogs of autumn, and I would hear my parents talking as I dozed in the solar after supper that such a county had changed its fealty again, or that the French armies had taken a castle from the English, or they from the French. It was a game, I supposed, that great people used to pass the time, as shifting and impermanent as the quarrels and alliances of a childhood afternoon in the garden. Men fought and women married, that was what my mother said, and with our marriages we would weave peace between the counties of France. It was men who made war, Maman explained, but it was women’s holy duty to make peace, for that was what God commanded.

  ‘See how handsome he is, Isabelle,’ whispered Agnes. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

  I did not think him handsome. I thought he looked stupid. I wanted to rush and hide in my mother’s skirts and beg her to take me home to Angouleme, but she was moving forward, inclining her head gra
ciously to Lord Hugh, though not too low, as she was a granddaughter of the king of France. I gave Agnes’s hand a tight squeeze before I stepped into my own curtsey, as my mother had taught me, only wobbling a little when my knees touched the rosemary-scented rushes. When I looked up, he was standing over me, impossibly high, smothering my hand in his great hard palm and leading me forward to present me to Hal.

  ‘The Lady Isabelle.’

  I curtsied again, with no shaking this time. I bit my lip and thought of the Courtenays, princes of the desert, and of my father’s people, the Taillefers, the iron cutters, who gained their name from the slashed chain coat of a long-ago Norman sea king. I would not let this boy see how scared I was. I could feel my mother watching me approvingly as the servants brought wine in silver cups and we moved to take our seats.

  ‘To King Richard, may God save his soul,’ offered my father as he took a deep drink.

  ‘And to our new King John, may God preserve him,’ replied Lord Hugh. Then they both laughed and sat back as though they had said something secret and clever.

  ‘Have you no words of welcome for your bride, Hal?’ smiled Lord Hugh. His lips were curled upwards but it was a snake’s smile, I thought, with no kindness in it.

  Hal muttered something through his fringe about my being very welcome to Lusignan.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to take Lady Isabelle to the garden, Hal? To become better acquainted,’ suggested Lord Hugh.

  The men rose as I stood and let Hal hand me down, Agnes bustling behind. We were not half the length of the hall when I could hear the adults’ voices begin, urgent and close. Hal led the way carelessly between two men-at-arms in green surcoats, not giving a glance to the horrible blades of their axes, then down a narrow passage to a small door which gave onto a walled garden. The air was warm between espaliered peach trees and a soft lawn that looked as inviting as a velvet carpet. It was such a relief to be in the air after the smoke and scents of the dark hall that I began to feel a little better. Perhaps Lusignan was not such a bad place after all, even though it was full of Lusignans. Agnes gave me a warning nod, which I knew meant I was to behave, and seated herself on a sunny bench, her eyes falling closed straightaway with exhaustion from the journey.

  ‘What shall we play?’ I asked Hal.

  ‘Play?’

  ‘Yes. You could be Saladin, if you like, and I will be Peter de Courtenay and attack you in the tree. Or do you prefer hunting? I can be a bear. Or we could have a sword fight, if we can find some good sticks …’

  ‘Why would I want to play with a stupid little girl? I don’t play, anyway.’

  He wasn’t that much older than me. ‘Well, we could dance then. I can do les grâces, can you?’

  ‘Dancing?’ he sneered. ‘How about this for dancing?’ He kicked me hard on the shin so I fell over and I could feel the scrape of his boot even through my gown. I rolled on the lawn, which was not so velvety as it looked, and I thought that Agnes would scold me for spoiling my clothes, and then I felt a great wave of tears build up inside me and I was so angry that he might see me cry that I jumped up and threw myself at his nasty sneering face, and when he toppled over next to me I grabbed his arm and sank my teeth into his wrist as hard as I could so that he screamed.

  ‘Who’s the stupid girl now then?’ I jeered. ‘Ow!’ He had a handful of my hair, wrenching it so hard I thought my scalp would peel off. I rolled over on top of him and banged my knee into his stomach to wind him. ‘Let go! Let go! Or I’ll bite you again.’

  ‘My lady! Stop this at once!’ called Agnes, but I was weeping furiously now, I could feel my face all hot and smeary, and I didn’t care about that, or the state of my skirts, I was going to fight him like a Taillefer and make him surrender. But he was much bigger than me and he tipped me over easily, sending me sprawling. He was walking away, shaking his arm.

  ‘Angouleme bitch.’

  ‘How dare you?’ I howled, scrabbling myself upright. I ran at him, grabbing at his cloak before Agnes could reach me and jabbing the point of my elbow at the soft place between his legs. He screeched and dropped to his knees, clutching himself, so I kicked at him and shouted, ‘Infidel dog! Submit!’ When I looked up I could see the axe men laughing and my parents’ horrified faces peering through the garden door. My mother flew towards me and grabbed me like a kitten by the scruff of my neck.

  ‘Agnes! How could you let this happen? And you, Isabelle, for shame! You shall be whipped!’

  I had never seen her look so furious. It made me cry harder.

  ‘But he kicked me, Maman! I only wanted to play.’

  ‘Lord Hugh, I must apologize. She has her father’s temper. She is willful but she is a good child.’

  I was being picked up, swung through the air until my dirty face encountered Lord Hugh’s white-silk shoulder. ‘Your coat, sir,’ I mumbled, finally remembering my manners, but he held me tight against him, so tenderly that I could not stop the tears, and I felt that huge hand awkwardly petting my head.

  ‘Madame, it is my son who should be ashamed, to treat a lady so,’ apologized Lord Hugh. ‘Hal! Apologize to Lady Isabelle immediately!’

  I could feel the rumble of his voice deep in his chest, against my body. I peered through my dishevelled hair down at Hal, who made a deep bow and said, ‘I beg your forgiveness, Lady Isabelle.’

  His father’s hand shot out and cuffed him round the ear. ‘None of your cheek, boy. Say it like you mean it. And shame on you for losing a fight with a little maid.’

  I tried to catch Hal’s eye as he repeated his bow, to show I was sorry that we were both in trouble, but he was not enough of a child to remember that we should be allies. All I saw in those deep slate-black pools was hate.

  Lord Hugh set me gently to the ground. ‘There, Isabelle. You are very welcome to the family. Now run along with your nurse, you must rest. Do you like marmalade?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then you shall have some. Go along now.’

  Still panting and snorting with tears like an exhausted pony, I took Agnes’s hand and let her lead me away, grim faced. As soon as we were indoors she looked at me and sighed.

  ‘Oh Isabelle. How could you? Hal is your betrothed, and he will be your master. How could you be so wicked, little one?’

  I didn’t care about Hal and I would never let him be my master. As I trailed along after Agnes I thought on Lord Hugh. He was not a kind man, I could see that, but he had been kind to me for all that he looked so grand and stern. Perhaps because Lord Hugh’s family were Crusader kings like mine, he saw that my blood was brave and fearless, that I was a Courtenay as well as a Taillefer.

  I wished I had remembered to tell Hal that I knew all about Melusina and that I knew he was the grand-something of a snail like the one on his father’s brooch; that he should beware, in case she came flapping her wings after him. Although the Lusignan castle seemed huge after the broad, light-filled rooms of my father’s house, I was not a bit afraid of some old serpent, at least not now, in the daytime, with the sun glowing through the horn panels of the casements and the scent of apple blossom from the orchard. I did not much like the thought of being married, but Lusignan was not so very far from Angouleme. I should have to stay here until the ceremony was conducted when I was twelve, which seemed an impossibly long time, but Agnes would be with me, and as soon as I had been educated as a wife I thought I could go straight home for good because I would be a grown lady and no one should be able to stop me. And perhaps King John would take the cross like his brother, and stupid Hal would sail to the Holy Land and be killed by an infidel, which was also a satisfactory thought. Perhaps I would go, too, and rescue him from a dank and horrible dungeon and then he would have to be grateful to me, like a true knight, because I would save him for honour’s sake even though he had kicked me, and then we would see who was the stupid girl.

  So I lay on the little white bed which had been prepared for me while Agnes clucked and ordered alum to rub down my grass-stained
skirts, and dreamed of myself and Lord Hugh at the head of a conquering army, storming a citadel, scrabbling up broken walls with our swords on our backs while Greek fire boiled down over us and the besieged crawled out to beg us for mercy. My mother would be there in a flowing gown in a courtyard full of fountains, and King John would grant me the castle all of my own, forever. And then the marmalade came, raspberry, in a silver dish with an ivory spoon, and I lost myself in a sunny doze of sugar, trapped as sure as a nectar-sozzled fly who notices only too late that her wings are sodden with sweetness.

  *

  The betrothal ceremony was held the next day, before my father and Lord Hugh rode for Normandy to greet the new king on the borders of his dominions to swear their allegiance. Agnes had washed my hair with ashes and lemon juice and combed it out so that it hung below my waist. I had white silk slippers chased with silver and my new white gown. I shuddered a little as its cool weightlessness enfolded me, but Maman told me I looked beautiful so I tried to look happy.

  Sulky Hal scowled through the words the priest repeated to us, the verba de praesenti that meant we were bound by God to be married, but I did my best to speak up clearly and smile graciously when he slipped a tiny gold ring onto my finger, and all the Lusignan court bent in a windblown cornfield of bows to acknowledge me as their new lady, which I liked very much indeed. Then there was music, and tumbling jongleurs, and a castle made of coloured wafers, almond paste and candied oranges. My mother handed me small purses of coins to hand to the poor people who shuffled into the courtyard to receive the scraps from the betrothal feast. The Lusignan knights paraded in their green surcoats, with their horses hung in the same, and I had to admit that Hal looked very well mounted up high with his chased leather buckler. He was to ride with his father that night. Then the men clattered down to the gatehouse where the baggage wagons waited and dismounted for the priest to bless them, and my father caught me in his arms so my face was squashed in his familiar stinky beard and told me to be a good girl and mind my mother. Lord Hugh reached down from his saddle to take my hand. ‘I will see you very soon, Lady Isabelle. I hope you will be content here at Lusignan.’