The Brat(2)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Pray do not jest with me, Becker," she said. "The king knows I have no desire to marry and leave court. Why would he wish to force me to do so?" Her eyes narrowed on the hapless aide as she added, "Surely you are not suggesting that he has lost his affection for me, his dearest goddaughter, and wishes to send me far away where I can trouble him no more?"

Edward released something very close to a groan. It appeared that this beginning was not a good sign of what was to come.

"Nay, of course not, my lady," Becker replied quickly, utilizing the diplomacy for which he was famed. ‘You are very deeply seated in his majesty’s affections, and while it will be a hardship on all of us to see you go, it is your own best interests he is looking to."

To Balan’s eye, Lady Murie appeared to be winding up for a good screech when Edward muttered, "Oh, bother!" Murie closed her mouth and turned to him.

"Murie, Phillippa has decided you must wed. She is firm on the matter and will not be moved. And she said I was being very selfish keeping you here at court and denying you the husband and children you were born to have. I am sorry, child. She will not back down once her mind is made up, and ’tis definitely made up now. She is most firm on the matter and will make my life miserable should I fight her on it." The king paused briefly and scowled as he realized everyone near enough to hear was listening to what he said, and he announced loudly, "I am the king and what I say is law, and I say you shall be wed." Murie simply stared at him for the longest time, appearing unsure how to respond; then suddenly she dropped her face into her hands and began to weep. It was no delicate female weeping, either, but loud and copious tears, sobs so noisy and dramatic that one could almost imagine she were acting. But Balan knew better.

He caught the astonished glance Osgoode sent his way, but continued watching the king. For his part, Edward did not appear so much surprised by this display as resigned to it and perhaps somewhat pleased that she found the idea of leaving him unbearable. It seemed apparent he’d watched this scene played out on other occasions over other issues.

The woman carried on for several minutes while the entire hall looked on in horrified fascination.

"Oh, there, there," Edward said finally, patting her on the back.

"I know ’twill be a trial to leave us…. We shall miss you, too. . .. Come child, do not cry so…. You shall make yourself ill." The man tried many comforting words between her earsplitting yowls of sorrow, but the Lady Murie rocked in her seat, face covered, and blubbering like nothing Balan had ever heard. When his words had no effect, Edward moved on to bribery.

"Pray, child, do not carry on so. We shall find you the finest husband in all the land . . . and buy you a whole new trousseau… and have the biggest wedding ever … and you can even pick your own husband," he added desperately.

Her sobs finally slowed. She raised great, wet wounded eyes to the king, and stuttered, "A-As . . . y-you . . . wish, s-sire." Stumbling to her feet then, the Brat hurried from the hall, hands covering her face to muffle her loud sobs.

King Edward watched as the door slammed behind the girl, then shook his head with a heavy sigh and turned to face the table. He sat for a moment staring at the fare before him, a sumptuous feast all laid out and growing cold: No one dared touch it ere he began to eat. He suddenly stood.

"I have lost my appetite," he announced to no one in particular, and then he turned and walked to the door. "Come, Becker." As the door closed behind the king and his servant, Osgoode asked uncertainly, "Do we get to eat now?"

Balan frowned and glanced around at the other nobles in the hall. They, too, looked uncertain. Were they now allowed to eat the fare provided, or expected to bypass it because the king had?

When the others began to rise from the table, apparently deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, Balan shook his head. The girl’s fit hadn’t affected his appetite, but he would rather find a meal in one of the many alehouses of London than risk causing the king offense. They had best be off.

"I have been thinking," Osgoode murmured as the two of them made their way out of the keep and toward the stables. "Perhaps you are right. Murie is not the savior we need."

"No," Balan agreed, steering the man away from the stables and toward the gardens. If they were going to discuss this, it was better to do so in privacy. In the stables, there were many ears to listen in, and Balan knew Osgoode well enough that he knew they were going to discuss it. His cousin wasn’t the most discreet of men. The man would voice his opinions on the matter whether Balan cared to hear them or not, so it was best to let him talk someplace he wouldn’t be overheard.

"I cannot believe the wench!" Osgoode said as they reached the safety of the gardens.

Balan grunted and cast an eye around, to be sure that no one was near enough to overhear. They were in a secluded spot.

"Do not even think of marrying her," his cousin went on, as if he himself hadn’t actually been extolling the virtues of such a union just a short time previous. "Not that she would be interested in you. Someone so spoiled would hardly look at you twice. Still, I would rather starve at Gaynor than have that weeping, wailing wench there. Dear God, she carried on so loudly they could probably hear it out here in the gardens. We could never escape the sound at Gaynor, not even in the bailey." Balan would have criticized his cousin for the disrespectful address – Lady Murie might be a brat, but she should not be called a wench – but the man looked so dispirited at the realization that Lady Murie wouldn’t do for a wife, he didn’t have the heart. Besides, the behavior he’d witnessed in the hall was not that of a lady, so he supposed the term was not too inappropriate.

"Well," Osgoode said, forcing his shoulders straight and his head up. "There are plenty more ladies here at court to consider. Come, let us make a list."

Balan scowled as his stomach growled, reminding him of its emptiness, but he gave in and followed his cousin to a small stone bench. This was an important issue, after all; his stomach would have to wait.

"Let me see," Osgoode began as they both seated themselves.

"There is Lady Lucinda. She’s quite pretty and well off." Balan shook his head. "From what I heard, she is as good as wed to Brambury. Their fathers are negotiating the marriage contract."

"Oh." Osgoode frowned. "Well, then, there is Lady Julia. A bit temperamental, they say, but a beauty for all that – and soaking in coin."

"Plague," Balan muttered.

"I did say she was a bit temperamental, but really, Balan, there is no need to call her a plague. She is nowhere near as bad as Lady Murie, and beggars cannot be choosers."

"I was not suggesting she is a plague. She died of the plague," Balan said with exasperation.

"Oh. I had not heard that," Osgoode muttered. "Lady Alice?"

"She married Grantworthy last month."

"Really? I did not hear about that either." Osgoode thought for several minutes, then suggested, "Lady Helen?"

"She too was taken by the plague," Balan snapped. "Perhaps you’d best just stick to the ladies at court. Most of them are here searching for husbands because their betrotheds have died on them."

"Yes, yes," Osgoode agreed, and stopped to think again. Balan waited patiently, his own mind picking through the eligible women.

"There are only three with the coin we need," Osgoode decided finally.

"I would have said two," Balan murmured. "Lady Jane and Lady Brigida. Whom did I miss?"

"Lauda."

"Malculinus’s sister?" he asked with horror. He shook his head.

"Not even for Gaynor."

"I was afraid you would say that," Osgoode admitted. "That being the case, there are only two – Lady Jane and Lady Brigida."

"Lady Jane is not a very good candidate," Balan said. "I have heard she has a secret lover."

"Hmm." Osgoode nodded. "I heard that, too. I also heard she may be with child."

They glanced at each other and said as one, "Definitely off the list."

"So, ’tis Lady Brigida," Osgoode murmured. His cousin sounded almost apologetic, and Balan knew there was good cause. The woman was frightening. Large and loud, she had the most god-awful chortle he’d ever heard. His future was looking most unpleasant.

"Emilie! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!" Balan and Osgoode both glanced around. Even with both of them looking, it took a moment to realize the excited cry had come from the other side of the hedge behind their bench.

"Oh, good morn, Murie," a sleepy female voice answered. "I was just sitting, enjoying the day."

‘You mean you were dozing off in the shade." A tinkling laugh sounded and Balan tilted his head curiously as he realized it was the Brat. He hadn’t recognized her voice at first. It was neither the serene composed sound she’d had upon first entering the hall, nor the husky, sobbing whisper she’d had on the way out. This woman sounded bright and cheerful and carefree. Rather odd, considering her earlier upset at the king’s announcement.

"It worked!" Lady Murie’s voice came to them full of glee from the other side of the bushes.

"What worked?" the woman named Emilie asked sounding confused.

‘Your plan to get the king and queen to allow me to marry!" Murie said. "Oh, do wake up, Emilie, I am ever so excited."

"I am awake," the other woman assured her, sounding a little more alert. "Now, tell me all."

"Well, I have been strutting about the queen’s solar all week, telling any of the ladies-in-waiting who would listen that I would never marry, that I was far too content at court to allow myself to be chained down by the shackles of matrimony in some far-off country estate." There was a tsking sound and then she added,

"The queen did not seem to react at all, and I was beginning to think that it was not going to work. But then today, the king sent for me and announced that I am to marry! The queen insists on it!"

"How wonderful!" Emilie cried. "I told you it would succeed."

"Aye, you did." Murie laughed. "And you were right!"

"Of course I was." Emilie sounded very pleased with herself. Her tone was much drier when she added, "But it was an easy outcome to predict. Anything you do not want appears to be what Queen Phillippa wishes for you. It has always been so."

"Aye," Murie’s voice dropped, becoming less excited as she added, "sadly, she has always seemed to dislike me, though I do not know why. I try so hard to please her, but nothing I do gains anything but criticism and derision. At least, I did try when I first came here," she corrected herself. "Of late I have simply been avoiding her and her ladies-in-waiting as much as possible."

"It is not you, Murie," Emilie said quietly. "It is jealousy that makes her so unbending when it comes to you. She dislikes that the king makes so much of you, even if he is just as doting on his own children. She resents every crumb of affection he shows you, as if it is stolen from the plates of herself and her royal offspring. And," she added solemnly, "Edward is not the most faithful of husbands. I think she fears his doting shall turn to something else should you remain here much longer. In fact, I am surprised that she did not command your marriage long ago." Murie didn’t comment.

"So, whom are you to wed?" Emilie asked after a pause.

"Oh!" Murie laughed. "I forgot to tell you. That’s the best part. The king said I could choose my own husband."

"Really?" Emilie sounded amazed.

"Aye," Murie said. "I was a bit surprised by that myself."

‘You must really have carried on to get that out of him," her friend said with a soft chuckle.

"Aye. Well, I could hardly hurt his feelings by letting him know I actually desire to leave court."

Emilie just laughed harder. When she could speak again, she said, "If anyone knew how sweet you really are – "

"I would be torn to shreds by the court harpies," came Murie’s quiet comment.

"Aye." Emilie sighed.

"I really must thank you for all your help, Emilie," Murie went on solemnly. ‘Your advice has helped me survive my time here at court. I think I would have gone mad without it."

"Do not be silly," Emilie murmured. ‘You would have done just fine."

"Nay! They would have come after me like wolves. Only your advice has prevented it. Every time one of them seemed to be going on the attack, I just thought of what you said and either burst into great wracking sobs, or acted like an enfant terrible, a shrew. It has worked very well. Everyone just leaves me alone now. Even the queen does, for fear she shall have to listen to endless weeping and screeching."

"Well," Emilie said helplessly. "It was the only thing I could think to suggest. You simply are not cruel and grasping enough for court life, my dear. I saw it at once. Trying to meet the others on their own footing would have been impossible for you. You needed a good defense that could be used as an offense when necessary. Using the king’s affection and behaving as if you had let it go to your head – that was the best way."

"Aye," Murie murmured, then gave a laugh. "Actually, it has proven quite fun at times. Although, sometimes even I am appalled by my behavior."

Balan suddenly felt Osgoode grab his arm, but he ignored his cousin and locked his eyes on Murie’s happy face. By moving a branch down just the slightest bit, he’d found it possible to see the women on the other side. Both were blonde and lovely. Lady Emilie he recognized, and she was in the final stages of pregnancy. She had married his friend Lord Reynard the summer before. Reynard was clearly lucky in his marriage. Balan knew and liked Emilie.

As he watched, Murie suddenly frowned and glanced at Emilie with concern. "You do not think my reputation as a brat will affect my chances of finding a good and kind husband, do you?"