Margaret blushed at the memory. It had been a moment of pure joy to see the white slug forced to back down. She did not doubt Suffolk in his willingness to defend her honour. The man took his duty as her protector very seriously and she suspected his sword training with her brothers had a similar aim in mind.
She looked up at the clash of swords. Her three brothers were all faster than the English earl, but he was a veteran fighter, a man who had suffered wounds at Harfleur and been commander at the siege of Orléans. He knew more about fighting than John, Nicholas or Louis, and in fact he had fought them all together to demonstrate how armour could protect a man in a mêlée. Nonetheless, he was no longer young and Margaret could hear him panting as he blocked and struck against Louis’s shield.
The sword he carried was huge to Margaret’s eyes, four feet of solid steel that he held with both hands. The weapon looked clumsy, but Suffolk made it come alive, moving it in complicated patterns as if it weighed nothing. With the blade, all sign of the kindly English lord vanished. He became simply terrifying. Margaret watched in fascination as Suffolk made Louis defend stroke after stroke until her brother’s blade fell from nerveless fingers.
‘Ha! Work on your grip, lad,’ Suffolk said.
They were wearing thickly padded tunics and leggings under light armour segments for the practice. As Louis massaged his numb fingers, Suffolk pulled off his helmet and revealed a bright red face, streaming with sweat.
‘There is no better way to build your sword arm than by using the blade itself,’ Suffolk told her panting brother. ‘It has to feel light to you, as speed comes from strength. In some battles, the winning edge will come if you can break the two-handed grip at a crucial moment. John, step up for me to show your brother.’
Her brother John was fresh and he looked confident as he took his position, holding a blade upright while he waited for Suffolk to put his training helmet back on. It was a heavy thing in itself, of iron lined with thick horsehair padding. The wearer had to breathe through a perforated grille, while his field of sight was reduced to a narrow strip trimmed in polished brass. Already overheated, Suffolk eyed the sweat-stained lining with distaste. He placed it carefully on the stones behind him.
‘Turn your right foot out a fraction more,’ he said to John. ‘You have to be in balance at every step, with your feet planted solidly. That’s it. Right foot to lunge. Ready?’
‘Ready, my lord,’ John replied.
He and Suffolk had fought a dozen times already, with the Englishman taking the honours. Yet John was improving and at seventeen he had great speed, even if he lacked the strength built by decades of swordplay.
John struck fast and Suffolk batted the blade away, chuckling. The blades clashed twice more and Margaret saw how Suffolk was always moving, his feet never still. John had a tendency to root himself to the ground and hack away, which meant Suffolk could increase the gap between them and draw him off balance.
‘There! Hold!’ Suffolk barked suddenly.
John’s sword had arced round at head height and Suffolk held it steady with an upright blade. For an instant, John was exposed across his chest. Her brother froze at the order, remaining in place.
‘You see, Louis? He is open. If I have the strength to take his blow with one hand, I can remove my left gauntlet from the hilt and strike with it. A punch will do.’ He demonstrated by touching his mailed fist to John’s helmet. ‘That will ring his bell for him, eh? Better still is a punch dagger, held in the fist with the blade between your knuckles. A punch blade will break his gorget if you hit it hard enough.’ To John’s discomfort, Suffolk showed Louis another blow to the exposed throat. ‘Or even the eye slit of a helmet, though it’s hard to hit if he’s moving. It all comes back to the strength of your arm — and you must beware of him doing the same to you. Break your grip, John, and I’ll show you some defences against those strikes.’
Suffolk stood back as he spoke and saw that Margaret was watching. He took a pace towards her and dropped to one knee with his sword in front of him like an upright cross. Margaret felt herself flush even more deeply as her brothers witnessed it, but she could not escape a feeling of pride that this big man was hers to command.
‘My lady, I did not see you there,’ Suffolk said. ‘I hope I have not been neglecting my duties. I wanted to show your brothers some of the new techniques that have become popular in England.’
‘I’m sure they have learned a great deal, Lord Suffolk.’
‘William, please, my lady. I am your servant.’
Margaret spent a moment considering the satisfaction it would bring if she ordered William to stuff her brother John into a cauldron in the castle kitchen. She did not doubt he would do it. With regret, she denied herself the pleasure. She was a married woman now, or half-married, or at least betrothed.
‘My mother asked me to tell you a friend of yours has arrived from England. A Monsieur Brewer.’
‘Ah, yes. I was wondering when he would show his face. Thank you, my lady. With your permission, I will withdraw.’
Margaret allowed Suffolk to kiss her hand. He strode into the castle, leaving her alone with her three brothers.
‘No hunting today, John?’ Margaret asked sweetly. ‘No chasing your sister? I imagine Lord Suffolk would take his sword to you in earnest if I asked him to; what do you think?’
‘He’s an English lord, Margaret. Don’t put too much trust in him,’ John said. ‘Our father says they are all vipers, for cunning. He said the snake in the Garden of Eden would surely have spoken in English.’
‘Pfui! Our father? He is so consumed with greed I’m surprised he says anything.’
‘Don’t insult him, Margaret! You have no right. You’re still my sister and a member of this house, and by God …’
‘I’m not, John. I am Margaret of England now. Shall I call William back to make my case for me?’
John’s brows lowered in anger, but he could not allow her to recall her protector.
‘Your marriage has brought Anjou and Maine back to the family. That is what matters — that was your only purpose. Beyond that, you can do as you please.’
John turned on the spot and stalked away from his sister. Nicholas followed him and little Louis stayed only a moment longer, exchanging a wink and a smile with her over their brother’s pompous manner. Margaret was left alone. As she looked around at the empty yard, she felt the pleasure of victory.
Suffolk was amused to find himself taken to the great hall of Saumur Castle. Since the wedding, the servants had been at something of a loss where he was concerned. England was an avowed enemy, but then the families had been joined in marriage. The reality of the truce between nations would take time to sink in, he thought. For the moment, only a small group of lords on both sides of the Channel were privy to the details.
Suffolk suppressed a snort of amusement as the steward bowed with the utmost reluctance at the door. Perhaps the status of an English lord had already risen a little, at least in Saumur.
Derry rose from a stuffed and padded chair to greet him.
‘You seem to have become part of the family, William. I suppose you did marry one of the daughters, so it’s only right.’
Suffolk smiled at the jest, looking up automatically to see if the children were listening on the balcony above. He saw nothing, but guessed Margaret at least was quite capable of eavesdropping on a conversation that surely concerned her. Was that a moving shadow in the gloom?
Derry followed his glance.
‘Odd construction. Is it a minstrel gallery?’
‘I have no idea. So, Derry, what brings you to Saumur?’
‘No greetings? No inquiring after my health? Mine is a lonely business, William Pole, I’ll tell you that. No one is ever pleased to see me. Come, sit with me by the fire. It makes me nervous having you standing there in pads like you’re about to charge off to battle.’