The wine had been sweetened with honey, and flowed like nectar over her tongue. Adele drained half the goblet in a single go, relishing in the sharp tang of fruit married with the burn of alcohol and the lingering kiss of the honey. The warmth of the alcohol hummed through her blood; Adele sighed in contentment. Finding her sister watching her in a quizzical manner, she explained, "The first decent wine I have had since ..." Since her dead husband's armed guard had demanded entrance to her private rooms and announced her arrest. The sharp crack of the flagon tumbling from her maid's grasp and shattering across the floor rang again in her ears as she remembered. "In a long time," she finished, managing a weak smile.
"None of our other vintages have met your approval, then?"
This castle's wine cellar was filled with barrels of cat piss. Cheap swill fit only for the men at arms who filled this grim pile of rocks. "In Spain we could grow our own grapes. I had my own vintages, made from grapes grown on lands I owned through my husband's gift." The first time she had seen them, the rolling green expanses filled with neatly ordered lines of vines ... ah, she had been but a child, newly wed and filled with dreams. "Sweet grapes, and a sweet, light flavoured wine."
"I suppose imported wine cannot compete with that."
"I lost it all." Adele dipped her forefinger into her wine and sucked it clean, lingeringly. "Everything. By rights I should have kept it after his death. That was the bargain written before the marriage." She flicked the rim of her goblet and listened to the dull ring the vessel produced, then downed the remaining contents, placing the cup back down a trifle too ungently. "If that mistrustful old fool had not believed the slander-" She bit down hard on her words. The trick was to reveal enough and not too much. "He wrote everything away from me, in law. Did not even leave me the things I took with me." Adele held up her goblet for a refill.
"It is not so surprising, considering."
"Considering?" spat Adele. "Considering what?"
Eleanor's eyes slid away from Adele's furious gaze. "Considering you were judged guilty of treason," she mumbled.
"Judged? Judged? For that there would have to have been a trial!"
"Kings do not always abide by niceties."
"You think I am guilty." She did, it was there in the way Eleanor wouldn't look fully at her since the change of topic. Burn them all in hell! Could no one have faith? Could no one believe the better of her?
Eleanor's reply, then, was surprising. "Are you?"
"No." The reply came quickly, smoothly, with the ease of long practice, with the urgency of survival. "One who wished to destroy me spread the lies." That, at least, was truth. "I was never given chance to defend myself. The first I knew of it was when they came to take me away to my prison. I swear it on God's mercy." And God had none so it was no false oath.
Eleanor gave a slow inclination of her head. "Then I believe you, my sister."
Adele watched the man juggling daggers in the space before the high table, picking away at the portion of sauced trout on her trencher. "Why did no one ever stand up for me?" she asked, not wanting or intending to and hating how broken she sounded. "Not even for the honour of our family. Why did they abandon me?"
"Our father tried." Eleanor set down her eating knife had placed that hand over Adele's. "I swear he did. I wrote to you myself, many times. Hugh did also. Always we were turned away. Your husband would not listen. Our letters were returned with the seals unopened."
Adele looked up, hardly able to believe it. Eleanor sounded sincere.
"It is the truth. I swear it on my lord husband's soul, which I hold more precious than anything else in this world or the next."
"I heard nothing from the outside. And when he came he always-" Adele realised her nails were digging into her thigh fit to draw blood. No, she would not think of the times he had come. "They lied to me. And why not? Anything to make my misery more wretched. They told me I had been disowned."
"Were that so, would you be here now?"
"No," Adele realised. "No, I would not." They had not abandoned her. It was as though the ground had trembled beneath her feet, her world rendered unstable. And then she understood that her task would be that little bit easier in light of this.
She ate in silence, and drank more of the wine, and listened to the music, and watched the entertainments, and felt her heart grow lighter once more.
"When I was queen," she confided in Eleanor as the next course was served, "I once organised a banquet themed around the reconquest of Jerusalem. I imported musicians from the Holy Land; they played all day and on for half the night. Such music, so different from anything we had in our own halls at the time. Strange, and quite wonderful. We danced a few in oriental style, though I admit most of us agreed that the steps were too outlandish for true grace, and we returned to our own soon enough. And the food, ah I swear the cost of the spices alone would have funded a banquet in any other court in Christendom! Rice, with raisins and cloves. Mutton with apricots - that is a fruit - nutmeg, cinnamon, the juice and skin of oranges. So many dishes I forget, save that there were two hundred and thirty nine in total." She laughed, a certain memory springing to the fore. "Midway through I arranged for a group of knights dressed as Muslim warriors to break in and kidnap certain of the ladies. We required rescue by some of our own brave heroes."
Eleanor swallowed her mouthful of chicken. "Did your husband rescue you?"
Adele's lazy smile died an unhappy death. It was alright for those who had husbands whom they desired to rescue them, though Adele wondered if this famous Fulk would now bother to rescue her sister. "Yes. Of course. I had informed him of the jest beforehand, and he accepted his role with good grace." The same good grace with which he acceded to her every whim, year after year, from the first day of their meeting to the very last she had seen of him. The same boring, spineless good grace. Always clear that he was indulging her. Always putting her first. That time, oh that time he had played the part and the entire time it had been clear that he had been uneasy and unsure of how best to play the game, like an adult unfamiliar with children attempting to lower himself to their play. An image flashed into her mind; her husband with his sword drawn, holding it as though he wasn't able to decide between brandishing it or keeping the sharp point safely down.
Adele sipped her wine. "I wore silk, nothing but silk. Layer after layer of it. I gave my veil to my captor; he demanded a token of honour." Now he had been a man worth bothering with, young and fit and with a gleam in his eye. He had laughed as he swaggered about in his heathen armour, and learned a few phrases of the language so he could shout threats convincingly. And one other phrase, whispered in her ear as he'd held her, translated only by a lingering, longing glance when no one else was paying attention. Chaste, ardent, perfect love. The worship a true knight owed his lady. "We had an archery competition too, using those strange bent bows they favour in the Holy Land. They lined up at one end of the hall and shot at targets clear down at the other." She laughed. "One of the servants was nearly hit - the fool did not stay out of the way as instructed. The way he squealed and ducked!"
"It sounds fantastic."
Adele regarded her sister. She made an acceptable foil, Adele would give her that. Similar in looks yet inferior, inferior in taste, inferior in experience, inferior in her ability to keep what mattered, inferior in her understanding of true love - the perfect black background for Adele's star to shine against. "It was. Fear not, dear sister. Once I come into my own here I shall hold similar parties, and you shall be invited." Adele smiled warmly, not letting the daggers that lay behind it show through. "I shall even help you find something to wear." It was a sad truth: Adele displayed Eleanor's clothes far better than did Eleanor herself. The poor dear had come wearing the green that Adele had discarded with no more than a cursory glance. Against the cherry red it had no chance. She should have worn her wedding clothes if she had wanted to appear anything other than faintly impoverished, plain, forgettable. Poor Eleanor indeed. Someone should take her in hand, teach her some essentials.
Eleanor reached for a bite of cheese. "I only hope Hugh gives you that chance."
That poured acid all over Adele's warm thoughts. "Why would he not, pray?"
"As I have said, I do not think he intends for you to marry again."
"He is a man," Adele countered sharply. "Who knows what goes on in the minds of men, save other men? He will think to his gain, and to his gain I will be used. Marriage is the biggest gain he may make of me." Here, at last, was a good natural opening. Adele returned her attention to picking at her food, as though a little uncertain. "What manner of man is our brother? I have not seen him since he was but a child."
"A deeply honourable one," was Eleanor's immediate reply. "Dutiful, almost to a fault. He is devoted to maintaining peace and justice in his realm."
And from that Adele was meant to gain ... what? "That almost sounds like an epitaph. What of the man?"
"He is a good father," Eleanor offered at last. "There is nothing he will not do for his children, or for his wife." With a tiny, self depreciating quirk of the mouth she said, "I am afraid I am not the best person to offer an image. We do not spend overmuch time together, and, as you said, he is a man and who am I to know what is in his mind?"
"Hmm," growled Adele. Useless! There were some meagre areas of promise though; honourable, just, family bound - yes, that may well be made to work. If only she could find where best to set her hooks! Another thing she had wondered about, "I heard some few rumours ... strange things, truthfully. From my captors, and while travelling."
"You are going to ask me whether Hugh is in truth our brother." Eleanor attracted the attention of a page and indicated she would like him to carve her some of the roast duck which had just been borne into the hall.
Adele blushed at having her intend mistaken. "That I do not doubt! I meant ... More to the point ... That is, did our father never doubt? It cannot purely have been the invention of that man who caused the war, whatever his name was."
"Trempwick, if you refer to the man who began a war in my name."
What?! Adele nearly spat her wine across the table. A bid to place her sister on the throne!? And Eleanor spoke of it so matter-of-factly!
Eleanor must have noticed her sister's difficulties as she hitched a shoulder in am embarrassed shrug. "Oh, nothing at all to do with me, I assure you. I was but a figurehead, unwilling and unwitting, and I stood at Hugh's side throughout. Indeed, I fled to him for protection, and married Fulk to disprove Trempwick's claims that I was his wife. It was all very unpleasant, especially when an army turned up and laid siege to my husband's castle. Thousands of men, all using my name as a war cry. Most disconcerting."
A war had been fought in her name, with thousands of men using her name as a war cry? Who did she think she was - Helen of God-bedamned Troy!?
"Anyway," Eleanor continued in that maddeningly light tone, "to answer your question, no, our father never doubted. To consider that Hugh was a bastard would first mean considering that our mother was unfaithful, and that he would never do."
It was not fair - the injustice blinded Adele with sheer rage. Her mother had presented her husband with a bastard - what else could a fair child in the midst of a brood such as theirs be? - and had been defended for it, while she, who had never stooped so low, had been condemned out of hand!
Unable to eat another bite for fear she would be sick, Adele drained the remainder of her wine and rose. The world swam a little; it had been a long time since she had drunk much and evidently her tolerance was weaker. "I am going to join the dancing, if you will forgive me for withdrawing my company?"
"By all means."
A hand took hold of her elbow - and twisted until her shoulder felt it would pop free of its socket, forcing her to twist and bend as she begged - and Adele's own hand contacted something hard, covered in warm flesh. Blinking in confusion she realised that she had struck the man, and then secondary realisation struck home - he had not been harming her. That was over and done. Everyone was staring. Everyone. Panic welled up in her breast. "How dare you touch me," she screamed. "How dare you! Common churl, how do you dare think yourself worthy to touch a princess? And such rudeness!" And she would not start to cry, and she would not start to cry, and she would not start to cry.
The man bowed low. "Forgive me, your Highness. I was not in awareness of doing anything wrong. I did speak, more than once. You did not hear. It was but the lightest of touches." Straightening and brushing his long hair away from his face he added with a dose of pride, "And I am no churl - if you will forgive me for contradicting you - save perhaps in feeling for having caused a lady distress. I am gently born, of noble, if Scottish, stock, and thus feel the pain of your distress far keener than any churl might."
They were still staring. Everyone. She had done it again, given herself away, just like when the door locked behind her. They would know! How could they not work it out? Then they would whisper behind their hands and call her worse names than they did already, and she would have no defence for some things she could not manage to lie about even to save herself and in some crimes there were seen to be no victims. If people knew she would never, ever be able to forget, not truly. She would spend the rest of her days wondering what they thought about it, if they blamed her, if they thought she deserved it, if they thought she falsely accused to ruin an innocent man.
So with every ounce of will she had she managed a chill smile. "Forgive me. The mistake is in part mine. It was not custom at my husband's court for any man to touch a lady." A most minor lie, feasible enough for one in the lofty position of queen.
The man bowed again, this time coming back up with a set to his jaw and a devil may care glint in his eye which was not altogether unpleasing. "Forgive me, your Highness, if I say must have made it a trifle difficult to dance, or a serve a lady at table, or indeed escort her."
"There were certain exceptions to the manners." Finally, finally, finally people were returning to their business.
Everyone except that priest of her sister's. He was watching her. His very attention chided her with "What did I not tell you?" Did he know? Had he worked it out? No, no, he could not have, not from such a small slip.
The youth was regarding her with some solicitude. "Your Highness? Are you unwell? I apologise most profusely if I have caused you upset, and am eager to make amends in any way which I might."
The words and courtly manner behind them should have been meat and drink to Adele's soul. Instead she felt tired, tired and sick and dizzy. "What did you wish to say to me?"
"I wished to beg for the honour of dancing with you, if in your mercy you can show pity to this unworthy knight."
All day she had been looking forward to this, wondering which of the courtly men would pluck up his courage first. The meal taken with her sister, some dances gone through with unpolished local lords, chatter with their passé ladies; it had all been borne in anticipation of some real culture. Now it had finally presented itself all she wanted to do was hide in a corner and cry. But people's eyes were on her tonight as she was the glittering heart of this gathering, and she would never regain her life if she allowed unwelcome memories to intrude. She would reclaim her life, if the doing so killed her! She accepted the knight's offered hand and smiled at him; the touch of his flesh on hers made her want to vomit. "I shall pity you for one dance, and perhaps more if you prove yourself worthy."
From the high table where she sat mostly forgotten, Eleanor watched Ranulf begin his charm offensive on Adele. The initial reaction was particularly intriguing.
Some time later Trempwick made his way up to the table, as if realising that she was on her own and in need of formal company if she was not to look disowned in the eyes of the gathering. "Revealing," he murmured, seating himself a proper distance from her and reaching for a crust of bread.
"Indeed."
"Mad?"
"Damaged?"
In the same heartbeat they voiced identical conclusions, "Both."
"Only a little mad."
Equally softly Trempwick replied, "Very damaged."
"Better off away from the world. It would be a kindness." With a blunt, open talk Adele herself might agree.
"Most will not realise."
"She covered well," Eleanor agreed. "She is an accomplished liar."
"She has to be. If anything were suspected she would be deemed instigator, not victim."
"Yes."
"Altogether a series of very particular reactions. All pointing to the same source."
"Added to the way she behaves during certain conversations ..." Eleanor turned her head fractionally so she could see Trempwick while still appearing to watch the crowd on the floor below. "How many times have we seen those particular betraying signs?"
Again they answered in unison, "Too many." Alone Eleanor added, "Even once was too many, for my taste."
After a long pause Eleanor said, "We might be incorrect. About how much damage."
Trempwick said nothing. That was his answer.
"The task changes."
This time Trempwick turned to look at her.
Down in the cleared space at the centre of the hall Adele danced with Ranulf, to cursory inspection as happy and carefree as any other lady. Only a keen observer would spot the occasional, not-quite-concealed flinch that escaped sometimes when the knight set his hands on her, or the smile which every now and then seemed decidedly fixed.
"It now gains a secondary part. Learn what you can from her; I want to know who abused my sister, and I want their heads."
There's only two parts in all of that which I don't dislike. Adele's reaction on learning of Nell's part in the civil war, and the conversation between Nell and Trempy at the end. I like the way they get so much said with so few words, it shows how well they know each other. Aside from that, ho hum.
Avernite, to be fair to Adele it's hard to practice your stealth moves when you're locked away. Or people skills. Or, indeed, most skills. That's what I find interesting about Adele; she's very different to write than any of the others. The prisoner mentality, the stunted skills, the desperation and determination mixed with the whole 'edge of breakdown' bits. Not to mention the idea of trying to convey exactly what happened in her past using nothing more than brief flashes, allusions, hints, and outside POVs' inferences. Unfortunately it also makes her rather depressing to write.
She's not able to compete directly with Nell and win. She's simply too damaged by her experiences, and hasn't had the right training in any case. If Nell knows what she aims for, she will block Adele. Adele's advantage lies in being unpredictable; if she can catch Nell out then she may very well be able to sprint the course before her sister can recover her footing and set chase. The plan Adele has been nursing through her long years of captivity is an obvious one once you know about it, and when you don't it's near impossible to spot until it kicks up into high gear.
Chief, that's it. The mirror effect between the two sisters, the central theme of the story. Each envies the other for something, and that something is not the happiness the one gazing into the mirror assumes. Nell envies the looks and the sons. Adele envies the famous knight manly husband and 'carefree' life. Except Nell's life has seldom been carefree, and her relationship with Fulk has never been much of a fairytale. Adele's looks have seemingly brought her little happiness, and her sons have an unknown fate.