strengthen their muscles, they wear what we call sporting gear.”
Arthur stroked his beard and she had the feeling he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “And what, pray tell, do you . . . they wear upon their upper halves?”
She figured a sports bra was probably going a little too far. “We wear things called T-shirts. A sort of oversized tunic, made of soft fabric for comfort.”
Arthur shook his head. “Apparently my men left much out in their reports from Dumont.”
“Setting aside the fact that you sent men to spy on me, let me ask you this: What kind of hobbies or pleasures do you afford your female servants?”
“Hobbies? Pleasures?”
“You allow Gwen to indulge in her pleasures.”
“Of course. She is my queen and my wife.”
“And yet all of your servants are not permitted to indulge in things that make them happy? You truly believe that because of their station they may not participate in activities they might truly enjoy?”
“My people are not unhappy. Are they? Have you heard grumblings?”
“No, sir, I have not. But would any voice them in front of me?”
His worried frown saddened her. “Do they appear unhappy to you?”
“Again, no. In fact they appear very loyal to their king. But consider the possibilities of allowing them just, say, a small portion of a day to follow their own dreams. To play with their own favored hobbies. How much happier they might be to go about the routine tasks they are required to do day in and day out when they know they have that small portion of time to just play. You may even find that their hobbies reap rewards that you and Camelot have never envisioned.”
Arthur sat down with a thump, seeming deep in thought. “You give me much to ponder.”
Isabel took his hand. “Ponder this. A happy castle staff makes for a happy Camelot. You and Gwen and your highest men enjoy the fruits of the servants’ labors. How about allowing the servants to enjoy some of those fruits for themselves? Why are you, Gwen and I allowed to follow our hearts, and those who work for us not permitted to follow theirs?”
He puffed up like a blowfish. “I do not disallow my staff from pursuing their own desires! Have you not seen the many children about?”
Isabel wanted to laugh but controlled herself. “Lovemaking and childmaking is going to happen no matter what else is happening. I’m talking about other pleasures.”
“What other pleasures are there?”
“Oh, please. Lovemaking is certainly a big one. But there are others. Gwen loves to garden. My chambermaid loves to dress hair. I love to run. I love to draw. The possibilities are endless. We could conduct a poll and find what really makes them happy. And then allow them the opportunity to pursue those dreams.”
“A poll?”
“A chance for them to speak up about what they enjoy. And possibly allow them to voice what they don’t.”
The beard scrubbing was gone. He’d moved on to standing and rubbing his temples. This was a natural progression in Isabel’s life, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. Next he’d be begging for a drink. She’d bet money on it.
“You are an unusual woman, Isabel,” he finally said. Then he stepped to his left and knocked on a bell. Within seconds Tim appeared. “Wine, please, Timothy. And two goblets.”
She needed more wine like she needed more eel. But what the hell? “I promise that you are not the first to tell me this. About being unusual, I mean.”
“But I swear ’tis in a very intriguing way.”
“Right, one that drives men to drink.”
“One that drives men to ponder as they enjoy an evening libation.”
Isabel tried hard to resist, for Viviane’s sake. “Should you not be sharing this with the queen?”
“Gwen enjoys evenings to . . . pursue those”—he waved his hands vaguely—“things women like to do.”
I’ll bet. Isabel rather liked mornings for those types of pursuits but decided not to mention that.
“She’s very sweet,” she
Arthur stroked his beard and she had the feeling he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “And what, pray tell, do you . . . they wear upon their upper halves?”
She figured a sports bra was probably going a little too far. “We wear things called T-shirts. A sort of oversized tunic, made of soft fabric for comfort.”
Arthur shook his head. “Apparently my men left much out in their reports from Dumont.”
“Setting aside the fact that you sent men to spy on me, let me ask you this: What kind of hobbies or pleasures do you afford your female servants?”
“Hobbies? Pleasures?”
“You allow Gwen to indulge in her pleasures.”
“Of course. She is my queen and my wife.”
“And yet all of your servants are not permitted to indulge in things that make them happy? You truly believe that because of their station they may not participate in activities they might truly enjoy?”
“My people are not unhappy. Are they? Have you heard grumblings?”
“No, sir, I have not. But would any voice them in front of me?”
His worried frown saddened her. “Do they appear unhappy to you?”
“Again, no. In fact they appear very loyal to their king. But consider the possibilities of allowing them just, say, a small portion of a day to follow their own dreams. To play with their own favored hobbies. How much happier they might be to go about the routine tasks they are required to do day in and day out when they know they have that small portion of time to just play. You may even find that their hobbies reap rewards that you and Camelot have never envisioned.”
Arthur sat down with a thump, seeming deep in thought. “You give me much to ponder.”
Isabel took his hand. “Ponder this. A happy castle staff makes for a happy Camelot. You and Gwen and your highest men enjoy the fruits of the servants’ labors. How about allowing the servants to enjoy some of those fruits for themselves? Why are you, Gwen and I allowed to follow our hearts, and those who work for us not permitted to follow theirs?”
He puffed up like a blowfish. “I do not disallow my staff from pursuing their own desires! Have you not seen the many children about?”
Isabel wanted to laugh but controlled herself. “Lovemaking and childmaking is going to happen no matter what else is happening. I’m talking about other pleasures.”
“What other pleasures are there?”
“Oh, please. Lovemaking is certainly a big one. But there are others. Gwen loves to garden. My chambermaid loves to dress hair. I love to run. I love to draw. The possibilities are endless. We could conduct a poll and find what really makes them happy. And then allow them the opportunity to pursue those dreams.”
“A poll?”
“A chance for them to speak up about what they enjoy. And possibly allow them to voice what they don’t.”
The beard scrubbing was gone. He’d moved on to standing and rubbing his temples. This was a natural progression in Isabel’s life, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. Next he’d be begging for a drink. She’d bet money on it.
“You are an unusual woman, Isabel,” he finally said. Then he stepped to his left and knocked on a bell. Within seconds Tim appeared. “Wine, please, Timothy. And two goblets.”
She needed more wine like she needed more eel. But what the hell? “I promise that you are not the first to tell me this. About being unusual, I mean.”
“But I swear ’tis in a very intriguing way.”
“Right, one that drives men to drink.”
“One that drives men to ponder as they enjoy an evening libation.”
Isabel tried hard to resist, for Viviane’s sake. “Should you not be sharing this with the queen?”
“Gwen enjoys evenings to . . . pursue those”—he waved his hands vaguely—“things women like to do.”
I’ll bet. Isabel rather liked mornings for those types of pursuits but decided not to mention that.
“She’s very sweet,” she
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