more of the man.
“Yes, and dear Uncle Geoffrey is the Earl of Essex and Constable of the Tower,” Manette boasted as they walked down the long drafty corridor, “So ’tis Matilda’s good fortune that he decided to favor her, for ’twas he who persuaded the Londoners to grant her imperial haughtiness entrance to the city.”
Gisele looked uneasily about her, for while Manette had been speaking so plainly, they had drawn near to others, lords, ladies and servitors, all thronging in the direction of the hall. “You…you do not like the empress?” she whispered. “But…you are her attendant.”
Manette gave her a sidelong glance. “For now. While the winds of fortune favor the empress, yes.”
“But what of your parents? Where are they? Surely you are here because they owe allegiance to the empress?”
Manette gave a casual shrug as they began to descend, single file, the winding staircase that led from the residence floors to the hall below. “They are dead. I am my uncle’s ward.”
“’Twas good of him to bring you to court, then, rather than shut you away in a convent as some guardians would do until they arranged an advantageous marriage for you,” Gisele said.
Again, that casual lift of one slender shoulder. “Mayhap I shall not marry,” Manette said. “I enjoy myself here at court. I like the freedom to do as I please, to take a lover if I want. Why should one surrender all one’s control to a man? Gisele, do you not agree?”
Hadn’t Gisele been longing for this same sort of freedom Manette spoke of? The freedom to control her own destiny, rather than be like a puppet whose strings were controlled by a man? She had been profoundly shocked earlier, though, when she saw how Manette used that freedom—how she had casually revealed the presence of her lowborn English lover in the bedchamber, and the manner in which she had spoken of their “bed sport”—as if what they did together were no more important than any other game!
“But never mind. Here we are. Follow me to where the empress’s ladies sit,” Manette said as they entered the high-ceilinged great hall with its several rows of trestle tables that were set at right angles to the high table. Expertly threading her way among the throng of scurrying servitors and chattering noblemen and women, she led Gisele to a place at a table very near the center. Half a dozen other ladies had already positioned themselves there.
“Manette, I trust you are recovered?” one said in a voice oozing with skepticism.
“But of course,” Manette purred. “I sent for Wulfram to massage my…brow. It works every time, like a charm. You should try it, Aubine.”
While Aubine was still exchanging looks with her fellow attendants, Manette continued: “But I have not introduced our newcomer. Ladies, this is Lady Gisele de l’Aigle, newly arrived from Normandy. Gisele, that is Aubine on your left, and Cosette across from you, and beyond them, Halette, Emmeline, and from Germany, where Her Highness was empress, Winifride and Rilla.”
All of them eyed her assessingly, their welcoming remarks blending into a meaningless blur. Gisele was very sure she would never remember which of them was which, for though each was dressed differently from her neighbor, and they all had differing heights and figures, they seemed alike in the suspicious manner in which they stared at her.
Then a horn was blown, and everyone who had not found their places hastened to do so. The procession to the high table began.
“Here comes Brien fitzCount, Matilda’s faithful knight,” Manette explained as a sturdy-looking man with graying hair strode by, his head held proudly. “Some say he is more than just her faithful knight,” she added in a silky, insinuating purr.
“Manette, hold your tongue,” the lady named Wilfride commanded in her thickly accented French.
But Manette was irrepressible. “Pooh, Wilfride. I say nothing that all the realm is not thinking.” Her eyes went back to the procession. “And that is Robert, Earl of Gloucester, the empress’s half brother—born on the wrong side of the blanket, of course. The late King Henry was a lusty man.”
“Manette, be silent!” snapped the tallest of the ladies—Cosette? “Someone will hear you!”
A churchman, dressed in rich purple robes straining at the seams to cover his bulk, his cloak trimmed with ermine, entered next.
“That is Henry, Stephen’s brother, Bishop of Winchester and the papal legate.”
Gisele stared at the corpulent churchman in his rich, ermine-trimmed robe. She had heard of this brother of Stephen, who had lately allied himself with Matilda, his brother’s rival. He did not look as if his choice sat easily upon his conscience.
Just then the steward, standing in front of the dais, announced, “Her highness the Holy Roman Empress, Lady of the English, Matilda, daughter and heir of King Henry!”
“She can’t wait to be called queen instead of just Domina,” Manette whispered as both watched the empress make a regal entrance. “She’s already signing charters as queen!”
“Hush, Manette. Her majesty’s coronation will be soon enough,” reproved one of the other ladies, who was as angular as Manette was voluptuous—the one called Emmeline, Gisele thought.
To get to her place on the dais, Matilda had to pass right by her ladies-in-waiting, and as she did so, she paused, studying Gisele until Gisele began to fear she had a hole in her borrowed gown, or that some smudge of dirt remained on her face.
At last, the corners of her lips lifted in a half smile. “Ah, Lady Manette, you have done well with our new lady. Very well indeed. Welcome to our court, Lady Gisele.”
Both Manette and Gisele inclined their heads respectfully and in unison, murmured, “Thank you, Domina,” as the empress swept on, past the men standing in front of their places at the high table, waiting for her. One place, at the empress’s left, remained empty.
Manette looked triumphant at Matilda’s compliment, but then, as they were about to sit, both spotted a man who had just entered the hall. Manette’s smile broadened.
“Ah, there is my uncle at last, late as usual. Is he not the most handsome of men?”
Gisele stared at the wiry, whip-thin man striding hurriedly into the hall. “I thought you believed Wulfram was the embodiment of masculine beauty?”
“Wulfram’s all very well for an Englishman—all flaxen hair and brawn. My uncle, on the other hand, has a mind to match his attractive form,” Manette countered.
Gisele darted a glance at Manette, once more experiencing a frisson of unease. Manette’s tone was so…fervent.
Yes, Geoffrey de Mandeville was beautiful, in the same way a sinuous adder possessed beauty. Perhaps Lucifer had been beautiful in that same way, just before being cast out of Heaven. She expected that when de Mandeville opened his mouth, a thin, forked tongue would emerge and his voice would possess a hissing quality.
De Mandeville did not pass in front of them, but stepped onto the dais from the far side. Gisele saw the sitting empress look up as the Earl of Essex seated himself at her left. Matilda’s lips thinned. Clearly she did not like anyone to arrive after she had made her entrance, but de Mandeville seemed oblivious to her annoyance.
Gisele looked back to her side and saw Manette’s eyes meet those of her uncle. Geoffrey de Mandeville smiled.
Then Gisele saw her nod, ever so imperceptibly, in her direction.
Puzzling over her new acquaintance’s action, she felt rather than saw Geoffrey de Mandeville’s gaze fix upon her. She looked up to see his eyes, black and unblinking as a serpent’s, devouring her.
“Ah, I can tell he thinks you’re very attractive,” Manette confided softly, her tone jubilant.
“I’m sure that is the veriest nonsense, Manette,” Gisele said, chilled by the girl’s odd words. “Why should a powerful nobleman such