In less time than a man would deem possible,she had my wet hair,that I wore about my shoulders,as our student's manner was,tucked up under the cap,and the clean white smock over my wet clothes,and belted neatly about my middle.
"A pretty wench you make,I swear by St.Valentine,"cried she,falling back to look at me,and then coming forward to pin up something about my coif,with her white fingers.
I reckoned it no harm to offer her a sisterly kiss.
"'Tis lucky Robin Lindsay is late,"cried she,laughing,"though even were he here,he could scarce find fault that one maid should kiss another.Now,"she said,snatching up a flat crate full of linen,"carry these,the King's shirts,and sorely patched they are,on your head;march straight through the kitchen,then through the guard-room,and then by the door on the left into the long passage,and so into the court,and begone;they will but take you for a newly come blanchisseuse.Only speak as little as may be,for your speech may betray you."She kissed me very kindly on both cheeks,for she was as frank a lass as ever I met,and a merry.Then,leading me to the door of the inner room,she pushed it open,the savoury reek of the kitchen pouring in.
"Make good speed,Margot!"she cried aloud after me,so that all could hear;and I walked straight up the King's kitchen,full as it was of men and boys,breaking salads,spitting fowls,basting meat (though it was Lent,but doubtless the King had a dispensation for his health's sake),watching pots,tasting dishes,and all in a great bustle and clamour.The basket of linen shading my face,Ifelt the more emboldened,though my legs,verily,trembled under me as I walked.Through the room I went,none regarding me,and so into the guard-room,but truly this was another matter.Some soldiers were dicing at a table,some drinking,some brawling over the matter of the late tumult,but all stopped and looked at me.
"A new face,and,by St.Andrew,a fair one!"said a voice in the accent of my own country.
"But she has mighty big feet;belike she is a countrywoman of thine,"quoth a French archer;and my heart sank within me as the other cast a tankard at his head.
"Come,my lass,"cried another,a Scot,with a dice-box in his hand,catching at my robe as I passed,"kiss me and give me luck,"and,striking up my basket of linen,so that the wares were all scattered on the floor,he drew me on to his knee,and gave me a smack that reeked sorely of garlic.Never came man nearer getting a sore buffet,yet I held my hand.Then,making his cast with the dice,he swore roundly,when he saw that he had thrown deuces.
"Lucky in love,unlucky in gaming.Lug out your losings,"said his adversary with a laugh;and the man left hold of my waist and began fumbling in his pouch.Straightway,being free,I cast myself on the floor to pick up the linen,and hide my face,which so burned that it must have seemed as red as the most modest maid might have deemed seemly.
"Leave the wench alone;she is new come,I warrant,and has no liking for your wantonness,"said a kind voice;and,glancing up,Isaw that he who spoke was one of the gentlemen who had ridden with the Maiden from Vaucouleurs.Bertrand de Poulengy was his name;belike he was waiting while the King and the nobles devised with the Maiden privately in the great hall.
