“But where!” asked the woman who must be the laundress or some such.
Blanche snapped her fingers. “There must be lords and ladies hereabouts who would be honoured to spare the Queen a bed sheet or two,” she said. “Or summon your women and get sewing.”
“There’s no spare linen. Lady, we’re poor. We don’t have the resources of a palace.” She bowed her head, humiliated, and Blanche felt terrible.
“I’m sorry, Goodwife. Listen-I’ll ask among the squires. Many of these gentlemen go to war very well appointed.” She put a hand on the woman’s arm and was horrified to hear a sob.
She buttonholed Toby and sent the squires scurrying for more sheets-for any spare linen not made up. She passed the great hall only long enough to find a cup of wine pressed into her hand and a bit of apple tart. She drank the one, ate the other, and found one of Sukey’s girls holding a great bolt of linen-forty yards at least.
“Miss Sukey says her best compliments an’ will this help.” The young woman was not dressed for a palace but for a tavern, and the squires proved suddenly unable to do any work. Blanche smiled, took the roll of linen, and said, “Please go straight back and tell her that, as always, I owe her. This goes on the Queen’s account. Can you sew?”
The young woman-Blanche’s age or maybe younger-shook her head and grinned. “I can make a shift if someone else cuts it,” she said.
Blanche laughed. “Tell Sukey I’ll take every woman who can sew that she can spare.”
The next time Blanche passed the great hall it was to answer a call direct from the Queen.
She found the queen in her chambers. They were fully appointed-bedspread, hangings, two good mattresses and a feather bed, counterpane and two beautiful blankets.
She and Lady Almspend and Lady Briar undressed the Queen, re-swaddled the baby and got the Queen in and out of a hot bath. Blanche, without thinking, swept all the Queen’s linens into a bundle, wrapped it with the zone that the queen wore under her breasts, and-
Becca Almspend stripped it out of her hands. “That will save the girl a mort of work,” she said, laughing.
Lady Briar-older, but new to court-smiled. “You must teach me to do that. It will save time.” She grinned. She had a large but very pleasant mouth and more teeth than many. “Papa said we’d be worked like servants-but I didn’t realize how good you’d be at it. I feel like a third wheel.”
Becca smiled at Blanche. “We’ve had lots of practice and we’re happy to have you, Briar,” she said.
It was all Blanche could manage not to carry the bundle down the stairs. But before she was all the way to the great hall-her third visit-she passed a pair of laundry maids going up. They curtsied and she felt a fraud.
The commanders were all in the great hall. One fireplace was roaring, and all her seamstresses were there-twenty women and one archer, all sewing like mad.
She was surprised-and pleased-when Lady Briar and her daughter came, got stools fetched by squires, and opened their sewing kits. Lady Natalia was already there, her needle moving as fast as a professional seamstress’s.
“Not enough sheets?” the daughter asked. “Happened at home, too.”
She giggled. She was perhaps a year younger than Blanche.
Blanche opened her own sewing kit-a two-fold wallet with a fortune in tools and needles-set it on her knee, took up a sheet and began to hem.
“Blessed Virgin you are fast!” young Ella proclaimed. “I’ve never seen a lady hem like you. Look at her stitches, Mama!”
Briar was recounting a tale of her youth-a youth that couldn’t have been so very long before-and she paused, shrugged, and went back to her story.
Lady Natalia leaned over to Blanche. “You do stitch uncommon fine,” she said.
“You, too, Lady,” Blanche said. Indeed, she’d never seen a lady-an actual member of the nobility-who could sew as well as Lady Natalia.
The new sheets took shape at the speed of needlecraft.
At the other end of the hall, there was a commotion. It was near midnight-the Bishop of Albinkirk and Prior Wishart were sharing a table, and both writing furiously.
Toby came through the great hall doors. He was very well dressed for the middle of the night, in a fine jupon and a hood.
“He’s coming,” Toby said. “Right now.”
The hall fell silent, as if something sacred had occurred. Like the moment at which the host is raised at mass, Blanche thought.
As if her thoughts had been said aloud, Gabriel turned and saw her. She rose like a servant and went to his side.
He rose for her. “You should fetch the Queen,” he said. “We’re about to receive a prince.”
“Her brother?” Blanche asked-but she knew he was already in the field, covering the northern approach to the town with his knights and a small force of infantry.
She ran. There was urgency in it, and she ran up three long flights of twisting tower stairs and found Becca combing out the Queen’s magnificent hair while Lady Natalia stared into a trunk of clothes.
“My lady,” she said. “The Duke of Thrake sends that we are about to receive a foreign prince, and bids you come, if’n you would.”
“Gown,” snapped the Queen. “Yes-brown. Good. Both of you button it while I put my hair up.”
In two minutes they were in the hall. The Queen was barefoot-unthinkable in Harndon, and merely practical here. Lady Natalia and Lady Almspend went back to the better light to sew.
The hush remained on the hall. At the far end, in the firelight, the company women stitched away on baby clothes. Nearer, the Red Knight stood between the Prior and the bishop. The other magnates were already abed.
Toby came back in and bowed to the Queen as Lord Robin and Lord Wimarc settled her onto the chair that could act as a throne-and put the other great chair in the hall opposite her.
“Who is it?” the Queen asked.
The Red Knight came and stood beside her. “The Faery Knight,” he said. “And Harmodius.”
Tapio entered with Harmodius at his side. A little behind them were two irks, a huge adversarius in a feather cloak, and the black man from Ifriquy’a who had saved Blanche in Harndon, as well as a second black man, this one in paint and feathers like an Outwaller. Behind the Outwaller were two great bears and a-she had trouble swallowing-a giant white stick figure, like an enormous praying mantis in white armour.
She overcame her fear and hurried to Pavalo’s side and pressed his hand-he put his hands together and bowed, but his eyes were on Harmodius. She had missed an exchange, but then the Faery Knight strode forward in a swirl of elfin cloak and a ringing of tiny golden bells, and knelt. He inclined his head, kissed the Queen’s hand, and smiled, showing a few too many teeth.
“Daughter of man, your beauty isss everything report hasss made it.”
She blushed. “I saw you at Yule!” She paused, and leaned forward to kiss him on both cheeks. “You, too, are beautiful, Son of the Wild.”
“There’s the biter, bit,” Harmodius grumbled.
“I would never have known you, old friend,” she said. He came forward and knelt at her feet, and kissed her hand.
“I have taken another body,” he said, without preamble or defence.
The Bishop of Albinkirk winced.
“For the moment, it is enough that you live, and have come back to me.” Desiderata got to her feet, and threw her arms around the magister’s spare frame-and the older man blushed.
“Oh, how I have missed you,” Desiderata said.
“Your grace,” Harmodius said, and found himself stroking her hair. He pulled his hand away.
“Have you returned to be my minister?” she asked. “Or merely to visit?”
Harmodius looked troubled. “I am my own…” He paused. “There is so much to say, and no easy answers. We have come this night to make an alliance. But that alliance must be based on hard truths. And when the truths are said, there will be no unsaying them.”