Nor was the mood exactly conducive to serious discussions. By the time Servanne and her maidservants had descended to the great hall, a drunken revelry was well under way. Since he was renowned for his carnal appetites, she was not unprepared to see more women than men in attendance upon the prince. Also obvious were his preferred attributes in his companions, for there was hardly a bodice seam not stretched to its utmost and bursting to set its contents free, hardly an unblemished face above the age of seventeen.
It actually afforded the one spot of warmth in the unfolding events, to see the high flush in Nicolaa de la Haye’s cheeks. Her bold sensuality was rendered less startling in the midst of so many smooth, clear complexions and bright, avaricious eyes. The surrounding bevy of youth and gaiety had set the aging beauty’s teeth on edge and caused more than one shrill reprimand to send a servant weeping from the room.
Servanne was so warmed by her rival’s discomfort, she almost missed the sole bowed head in the prince’s entourage.
Because there was no distinct fashion for children to wear, they were usually dressed as small replicas of men and women. Thus, the child who stood so quietly between two of John’s advisers, wore a gown of blue baudequin styled along the same seductive lines as those worn by the older women. Her straight waist was girded in gold links, her train was long and swirled demurely around her tiny slippered feet. Her wimple fit snugly to chin and cheeks, outlining a face that promised great beauty in the coming years. Sky-blue eyes and pale lashes suggested the child shared Servanne’s own fair colouring, enough so they might have been construed as sisters … or mother and daughter, since a further inspection placed the child’s age at no more than eight or nine.
Faint stirrings of disgust shadowed Servanne’s eyes as she saw how uncomfortably the girl stood in the company of bloated, leering men and women. Darker thoughts were confined to the tautness of her lips as Servanne looked at Prince John and recalled stories of his lewdness and debauchery. It was not so unusual for girls of eleven or twelve years to be married off to older men, although the actual consummation at such a young age was hardly considered to be gratifying, or manly. For the prince to keep a child so young by his side, to flaunt her along with his whores left a galling taste in Servanne’s throat.
“Ahh … lovely, lovely,” John said, his wet hands catching hold of Servanne’s to draw her attention back to himself. “My Dragon Lord has chosen well. She seems a touch on the thin side, Wardieu,” he added in an aside, “but I trust you will have no trouble plumping her up in short order.”
The laughter that accompanied John’s suggestive caress of his own burgeoning belly caused Servanne to notice how his teeth, green with rot, were overlapped like fangs top and bottom. His breath reeked of wine and what had not found its way down his throat was sprinkled liberally in the forked beard and over the front of his black velvet doublet. As well, he was somewhat shorter than she remembered, and she had to make a conscious effort not to stand too straight to overshadow him.
“You shall sit by me during the meal,” John announced, indicating the vacant seats on the dais. And you, Wardieu,” he added with a broad wink, “shall endeavour to give me several good reasons why I should not steal your bride away for myself. Come … Breauté, Gisbourne … sit. Sit! My gut rumbles loud enough to rival the rutting noises of a ram. And where is my pretty little niece? Ahh, the fairest little princess in all of Brittany … I have grown so accustomed to her smiling face in our presence, I shall miss it sorely when it is no longer there to greet me at every turn.”
His laugh, dry and sardonic, did not affect the child’s sombre expression, save for the faint pinkish flush that tinged her ash-white complexion. The greater effect was noted in the faces of his closest advisers, one of whom moved hastily forward and murmured a few worried cautions into the prince’s ear.
“Bah! God’s chin, what difference can it make now? By tomorrow, the spiteful little bitch will be on her way back to Brittany, faster than any gossips