I thought of Father Pierre’s strictures about the farm girl, and it made me blush, and the maids giggled.
‘The lady I love must remain locked in my heart,’ I said. ‘But I will say that she is beautiful as – as …’ Once started, I could not be seen to stop, and yet no fresh image leaped to my head. A summer’s day? A pox on that one. A flower? A rose?
I still had my longsword in both hands. I raised it so that it formed a cross. ‘As beautiful as this sword – as beautiful to see, and yet as beautiful in her soul, strong as the steel and—’
‘Your lady is as beautiful as a sword?’ Kunka asked.
They were laughing at me.
I looked at the Bohemian knight, who shook his head and left me to my fate. ‘Perhaps I must beg you to understand how beautiful I find this sword,’ I said, hoping to win a smile, but the women all rolled their eyes and prodded one another with their elbows.
‘Is she red and gold, this lady?’ Kunka asked.
‘No, blue and white like snow and the sky,’ I answered, too quickly. Emile’s arms were blue and white. I thought of her that way – I had been too open.
Kunka smiled, though. ‘Now that was prettier, Sir Knight, and I think it possible that you are more than a boor. No more swords. Tell us what it is about her that won your heart, so that we poor women may strive to emulate that and rise in your opinion.’
‘Courage,’ I said.
‘Ma foi,’ Kunka said ‘That is a fine thing for a knight to love in a lady. And far better than comparing her beauty to a sword. Let me tell you, monsieur, when you compare me to a sword, all I hear is that I am sharp and pointy.’ She laughed, and all the maids laughed with her. ‘But when you offer me courage as a woman’s virtue, then I feel hope that a knight might see me as more than a leman and a mother. Can you tell us of her courage?’
I thought of her coming to my room in Normandy, during the siege, dealing with her husband …
I thought hard, wanting to avoid revealing anything, and yet caught up in the game that was courtly love. And the girls were watching me differently, now, and in the distance, I heard the music begin.
‘It is not that she fears nothing. It is that, when fearing, she acts despite her fears. Ask any man-at-arms where courage lies. It is not the fearless knight who wins our respect, but the one who, full of fear, carries on.’ I shrugged, to end my little sermon.
Sir Herman gave me a small nod of appreciation.
Kunka put her hand on mine. ‘As Queen of Love, I say to all that you are a true knight and worthy of your lady. Now I love her courage too.’ She rose, and I kissed her hand, and she made a motion to the maids to attend her. ‘It is my express command that none of you may dance with Sir William more than once. Or any other thing. Does anyone doubt my word?’
She swept away from me with a smile, having made sure that I would sleep alone.
But, like many of my other teachers, Fiore and Father Pierre and Sir Peter and Arnaud and more, she showed me something about myself.
Why is it that there is always so much to learn?
By our Lady! I danced three times, once with the Lady Kunka, and then, at last, I walked out under the stars, out the great gilded doors of the King of Poland’s great hall, and into the cool of a Polish August night. I thought I was alone, but Fiore was at my shoulder.
He grinned like a boy. ‘The sword?’ he asked.
He was as eager as I.
We walked off into a garden, the two of us like secret lovers, and stumbled in the dark until we found what we sought: a little light from a lantern, probably left by real lovers earlier in the evening. And then I drew the sword from her red leather-and-wood scabbard, and her blade shimmered like Arabian silk in the candlelight.