Free Mathilde 01 - The Cup of Ghosts by Paul Doherty

back when a young lady stepped out of the shadows just within a doorway.
    ‘Demoiselle Mathilde?’ My sleeve was plucked. I glanced at her. She had beautiful red hair framing an impudent face; her gown cut low, she moved closer in a fragrant gust of perfume.
    ‘Madame?’
    ‘I am from Monsieur Louis, the princess’s brother.’
    ‘I know who he is,’ I replied. She grasped my hand. I felt the small sack of coins.
    ‘Monsieur Louis would consider it a great favour if you could keep him informed about his sister’s moods.’
    I snatched my hand away; the purse fell to the floor.
    ‘If the princess’s brother wishes to know about his sister’s temperament, he should ask her directly. I bid you good day.’
    I was so immersed in what had happened, I became lost in the maze of galleries and passageways, so it took some time before I returned to the princess’s quarters. When I entered the chamber, I was surprised to see her seated in the high-backed chair before the fire, with the young lady I’d met on a stool beside her. As soon as I appeared, Isabella flicked her fingers. The lady rose, curtsied, grinned at me and swept out of the room.
    ‘Come, Mathilde.’ Isabella’s fingers fluttered. ‘Come here.’
    I sat on the footstool; she gently patted my hair.
    ‘You passed scrutiny, you can’t be bought! No, no, now listen, this is what I want you to do. You know the university quarter, how the different students from each kingdom are divided into nations? I want you to go to the English quarter. I want you to move amongst the students and the scholars, especially the clerks from the retinues of the English envoys. You are to discover all you can about my future husband, Edward of England!’ She paused. ‘All I know about him is what I’ve been told!’ She imitated the portentous tone of an envoy. ‘How courtly! How handsome.’ She winked. ‘I’ve yet to meet a man I can trust. Anyway, will you do that for me?’
    ‘Of course, my lady.’
    ‘Good, Mathilde. I am aware, from what you’ve told me, that you know the city well, though how and why I’ve yet to learn. So . . .’ Isabella thrust a purse into my hand. ‘You refused that once,’ she smiled, ‘this time it’s yours! Buy them wine, Mathilde, let their tongues chatter. When you’ve finished, come back and tell me all you’ve learnt.’
    Strange, isn’t it? How we judge children? We betray our arrogance – small bodies must house small minds. It’s not true. Isabella was thirteen years of age but she had all the wisdom and cunning of a woman of threescore years and ten.
    I packed a set of panniers and left the palace the following day. It was good to be back in the city. Especially the Latin Quarter with its taverns, cook-shops, narrow streets, some cobbled, others not, the air rich with different fragrances and odours, the crowds colourful and jostling. I entered the quarter where the English nation lodged. Students in ragged gowns who lodged in narrow chambers were only too willing to escape to the great tap rooms and eating halls of the taverns. A noisy, colourful throng, young men full of the lust for life, quoting poetry, carrying a pet weasel or squirrel, arguing, fighting, dicing, chasing each other, constantly looking for a penny to profit or a woman to seduce. They rubbed shoulders with the tight-waisted, square-bodiced ladies of the town and ignored the moral warnings of the rope-girdled Franciscan in his earth-coloured robe who stood on a corner preaching against the lechery of the world. They played the rebec and the flute, sang songs of nonsense, crowned a dog as King of Revels and made a beggar with his clack dish lead him up and down the half-cobbled street. I had met a few English before; now I immersed myself in the company of these tail-wearers with their sardonic humour and harsh tongue. I became accepted and so closed with my quarry.
    English envoys had arrived in Paris to negotiate with Philip. Of course their clerks