Read Online A Place Beyond Courage by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online Page A

nothing, but poured another quarter-measure into her cup.

     
    In the balmy summer evening, sweet with birdsong and scented with honeysuckle, Sybilla was bubbling with the excitement of the occasion as she and the other wedding guests accompanied John FitzGilbert and his bride from the castle to the marshal’s house on Scowrtene Street. All were on foot, save the bride and groom, who sat together on a dappled-grey palfrey, its harness festooned with ribbons and flowers. He was astride with his bride perched on the crupper, her hands gripping his belt and a queasy smile fixed on her face. Torch-bearers illuminated their way, although there was still enough light to see by. Sybilla thought the flares looked pretty and added to the magical atmosphere. Everyone was in high spirits and there was much singing and merriment en route. Fortunately, the horse was docile, and plodded along as if on a dusty country lane. Robert, Earl of Gloucester, played the role of squire, with a hand to the bridle, and led the singing in a rich, deep voice.
    Not everyone was capable of walking in a straight line. Sybilla was glad Patrick wasn’t among the company, for he had been behaving like a boor. The last cup of wine had felled him. Her oldest brother William had dragged him away to a corner of the hall to sleep it off.
    Sybilla skipped along the road, holding her mother’s hand and performing little dance steps, her eyes alight with pleasure. She hadn’t eaten the piece of marchpane Aline had given her, but had stowed it in the small leather pouch at her belt to enjoy later along with her memories of the day. She had loved every moment, the more so because she hadn’t seen her big sister’s wedding, which had taken place in France. The King’s marshal and his bride looked like two figures from a stained-glass window and she had imagined Hawise and Thomas looking like that too. Sybilla hoped that when her own wedding day came, she might have a fine new gown, a chaplet of flowers for her hair, and ride to her new home on a beribboned grey horse.
    The procession arrived at the house. John’s servants had opened the doors and lamplight spilled over the threshold in a welcoming pathway. Sybilla watched John dismount from the grey, then raise his arms and lift Aline down in the strength of them as if she were thistledown. The gesture elicited aaahs from several of the women. Aline flushed and stared at the ground.
    John turned to his well-wishers and flourished them a bow. ‘My thanks for your good company,’ he said. ‘But now, as you will all understand, my wife and I desire to be alone.’
    There was laughter, a few sparking jests, raised eyebrows. John gestured to his servants and they came out bearing cups of hot, sweet wine imbued with spices. ‘A final cup to wassail you on your way and for you to wish us Godspeed tonight!’ he said and, having raised one of the cups on high, took a token drink, then presented it to Aline to sip from the same place. Her complexion on fire, she did so, to good-natured applause and shouts of approbation. Sybilla thought when a cup was passed to her that the drink tasted ambrosial - honeyed and hot, with a hint of cloves. She closed her eyes to savour the flavours on her tongue, rather than drinking it down like the adults were doing.
    John took the cup back from Aline and handed it to an attendant. With a light hand at his bride’s waist, he bowed again to his guests and went into the house, closing the door, shutting off the path of lamplight. Shouts, laughter, ribald comments bounced off the timber walls and barred threshold, but after a brief chorus, the guests started to leave, either returning to the castle or back to their own lodgings. Sybilla gave her empty cup to a servant with a smile and a thank you as she had been taught. Her mother was always saying that good manners were not only a duty, but also a tool to make the road ahead easier. As she reached for her mother’s hand and set off