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Bronwyn shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re from different worlds.”

“Not so different, I think. Doesn’t the empress have you deliver her rolls by hand?”

“Yes. So?”

“She doesn’t have anyone else do that. Only you. Gives you special treatment, eh?” The cook nudged her with his elbow.

Bronwyn laughed. “Oh, yes, I love being called on to deliver things myself, to a room full of noblewomen who stare at me, make little snide remarks, and dismiss my clothes.” She snorted, then realized the cook was right. She was privileged.

There were many who would love to be in that position.

Perhaps not to have their looks dissected by some discerning ladies-in-waiting, but to be asked personally by the empress to come and to wait on her.

That alone was a privilege, bestowed on very few.

She was lucky, indeed. She just needed to see that.

Within three days, they had crossed from Lincoln and down the countryside, away from London, down to where the land was no longer so hilly but the landscape changed.

It was marshy and often rainy and wet. More often than not, they got rained on as they walked, and Bronwyn shivered in the misting rain that drummed against the hard ground and pattered against the covered wagons and carts.

She dearly wished for Theobald’s cloak or her old coat and jerkin to wrap around herself, but she had naught but the old purple dress from Lady Susanna, her apron, her socks, and her shoes.

It was quite a change from the life she’d known before, she reflected.

It made the miles pass easier, thinking about other things, and at times dwelling on the life she’d led before the Battle of Lincoln.

She had liked to experiment with pastry and create small designs, often leaves and flowers out of pastry, to make them pretty pieces of delicious art atop pies and tarts.

The customers never really noticed, but she thought they were charming, even if her stepmother had declared them at times to be fanciful and a waste of good pastry.

That was the good thing about working in her family’s bakery, she decided.

There was no waste. Every spare bit of beer, milk, eggs, and pastry were used, down to the last yolk and egg white.

At least they had never gone hungry, which was more than she could say now as she walked in a group with the other cooks and servants.

By midday on the fourth day, they reached Gloucestershire, and with it came a sense of excitement and relaxation amongst the servants, knights, and people in the train. The sun broke through the grey clouds that hung overhead.

They entered the city of Gloucester, where the roads were wide and the buildings tall. It was a fair place, Bronwyn surmised, as she craned her neck and looked all around.

The farms outside the city were well tended, but there was a crowd of people at the gate leading into the city, and a wall of noise that struck Bronwyn’s ears when they passed through the high gates and within the stone walls.

As they were in the empress’s city, people crowded around as if for a parade at the empress’s entrance, waving and cheering. It gave them something to do, to celebrate the arrival of their empress.

More and more crowd-goers appeared, craning their necks to see the empress and her knights and cast an eye at the fair ladies-in-waiting who traveled together in the covered carriages.

Bronwyn couldn’t help it—she grinned. The city held a festive air and the sun shone. The place was full of good cheer and she waved along with the servants. She held her head just a little bit higher and smiled brighter as people noticed them and waved.

As they brought up the rear of the train of the empress’s entourage, there was less excitement to see the servants, but people were still jolly. Bronwyn laughed at the small children running along behind the parade of people, and dogs trotting around the groups of crowds, nosing for food.

But then came a quiet, along with whispering, boos, and hisses.

People seemed to realize that one of the wagons held King Stephen prisoner and began to boo and talk loudly, making their displeasure known.

Whether it was anger at his fighting the empress for the crown, or anger at his being imprisoned when he was a king, Bronwyn didn’t know.

But she was aware that the parade of people picked up the pace, and that the wagon surrounding the imprisoned king and his loyal men was heavily guarded by knights and armed footmen.

In a riot, he would be torn to pieces—or rescued—but the guards carried halberds and dangerous-looking spears, and so people were wise enough to mutter angrily and whisper, but not to try their luck.

She and the other servants waved and followed the train through the streets and to the palace across the city, through another set of gates and into a courtyard, where the festive air disappeared and all was back to business.

Her feet were sore and her body felt bone-tired, but she was curious and wide-eyed at her new surroundings. So this was Gloucester, and the palace.

It was very grand. Solid, stone walls. A large, noisy, bustling courtyard.

The air was filled with the sounds of men calling out orders to grooms and more servants, whilst knights disembarked from their horses and pack animals were led away from the group to be watered and fed, their burdens relieved by busy servants.

Men and women called out, and Bronwyn stood by, waiting for someone to notice her.

One of the cooks was approached by another woman, a large woman with wide arms that reminded Bronwyn of hams; a large, round bosom; and a plump face with a double chin.

She wore her hair tied back in a kerchief and had on a crisp, clean, white apron, her hands on her hips.

She eyed the servants who stood with Bronwyn and gave orders for them to unpack the wagons of food and supplies and follow her.

Having traveled all that way, Bronwyn and a few others were given the chance to sit and work, whilst space was made for them to have a place to sleep.

There were sauces to be stirred; chickens, game hens, pheasants and quail to be plucked; wild hares to be skinned; boars to be butchered and smoked; hams to be steamed; and great haunches of meat to be turned on large spits that required two boys to handle—carefully.

Down in the castle kitchens, Bronwyn was quickly put to work.

She didn’t mind at all, especially when she was given a chance to sit and rest her feet.

A small cup of ale was put into her hand and a small, wooden bowl of potage with a piece of crusty hard bread passed to her, as the large woman, the second head cook, known as Mistress Agnes Dunbar, gave orders for all the new incomers to be fed.

Mary, who had held court with such a dominant manner in the camps, was quickly overruled at the castle, and she went to work with much muttering under her breath and dark looks. But her comments were largely overlooked by the others in charge, and she soon faded from Bronwyn’s notice.

But before she and the other new cooks and servants could get situated, an order came through that was extraordinary: they were being called to the throne room.

Bronwyn stared. She looked at the page, who announced it to the kitchen. The boy repeated the order, louder this time, and said, “The empress bids you all to come to the throne room. Right now.”

Bronwyn set down her cup of ale and empty bowl of potage and followed the stream of servants out of the kitchens and up the steps, leading the way through the corridors and up and out, to the castle proper, where there were many dozens upon dozens of people filing into a grand room.

Guards were posted outside the walls and as Bronwyn entered, it briefly took her breath away.

It was a large room, larger than the throne room at Lincoln Castle.

But what struck her was the richness and opulence of the furnishings.

Large, colorful tapestries, depicting scenes of battle, adorned the walls of the room.

Beneath the tapestries was solid-wood paneling, and guards were posted around the room.

They also lined a sort of walkway to the dais of the throne.

People milled and walked about, murmuring and talking.

Crowds of people were already present, being directed to one side or another of the room and told to stand in place.

There was nowhere easily to go, or to leave, for that matter, if she wanted to quit the room.

That thought struck her and a slight shiver went down her spine as she looked around the room.

Was the crowd making her nervous? A little.

This was a new feeling, however. She had never minded crowds before.

But with the bodies pressed in tightly around her, the air soon grew warm and stifled, and more people were entering the room.

It was a decent-sized room. Smaller than a great hall, but bigger than other rooms she had seen.

At the far end of the room stood a great throne, on a raised dais.

It was a great, wooden chair with armrests that commanded the space.

But then tall people stood in front of her, and she couldn’t see well.

Being an inch or two shorter than average height for a woman, she looked here and there and resigned herself.

Whatever was to take place in this great room, she would see little of it but the person’s shoulder who stood in front of her.

The chatter and noise grew as people wondered loudly what this was all about. Bronwyn turned to the cook next to her. “Do you know what this is about?”

The cook shook his head. He was a short, plump man with thinning blond hair in his mid-twenties, she guessed. He rubbed his eyes.

“Does the empress do this often? Make announcements like this?”

“No. I’ve never even been in this room before, and I’ve lived at her court for three years,” he said.

His accent was different to hers, which surprised her a little.

But then, of course, she was from the north, and they were now in a more western part of the country, not far from Wales, she’d heard.

His accent was rounded and almost musical.

Then the doors to the hall closed, and the guards nearest the doors stamped their spears. “Silence.” Their voices boomed. “Silence for the empress.”

The people quieted. Bronwyn and the cook exchanged a look but said not a word.

Then, toward the side of the room, a part of the wall opened up, and Bronwyn stood on her tiptoes to see.

A stream of knights entered, about ten, wearing not armor but mail over their tunics.

They walked almost in formation, each taking a stance as a barrier in front of the throne.

Almost like an extra human layer of defense, the sight of them was impressive indeed, as each man stood armed and at the ready.

As if to add a bit of theater, each man unsheathed his sword to the sound of a great hush from the crowd and planted the point of his sword into the floor.

Not hard, but it was an impressive sight.

Adding to the intensity of the moment, the men did not speak, but only stared straight ahead.

The ladies-in-waiting were next and filed into the room one by one, hardly speaking.

There were all three of them: Lady Morwenna, Lady Alice, and Lady Susanna.

They stood on either side of the throne and looked around at the crowds.

If they were nervous to be the center of attention, they did not show it.

The young cook beside Bronwyn unconsciously patted his hair and pulled up his sagging trousers at the sight of the ladies-in-waiting.

Bronwyn smiled at the sight. But then she watched as the people shuffled and suddenly, she was able to see.

No longer standing on her tiptoes, she looked and saw as two pairs of trumpeters and drummers entered, taking places before the knights.

This was to be a treat, Bronwyn realized.

Music. Perhaps there was to be a feast, or a dance?

It didn’t have that same celebratory feel, however, as none of the people there were speaking.

The drummers started drumming, a steady beat, and this built to a crescendo rather quickly, when the trumpeters raised their horns and blasted loud notes into the air.

They were not in tune with each other and one played faster than his fellows, but the effect was stirring.

The men lowered their horns and stood off to the side, as there was a small gasp.

The empress entered the room, wearing a dark-burgundy dress that looked rich and thick.

This was no woolen gown, and it was cut well to suit her figure.

She wore a gold belt that hung at her waist, and a headdress that covered her head, with her golden-brown hair pinned back and plaited.

She did not wear a crown, but there was no mistaking that this was Empress Maud.

Flanking her was Sir Robert of Gloucester, Sir Ranulf de Gernon, Sir Miles FitzWalter, and Theobold, who all took places on the dais, at either side of the throne.

In a short amount of time, there were a lot of people, and Sir Robert escorted the empress by the hand and led her to the great, wooden throne.

She stood before it, looking around at everyone, her eyes surveying the crowd.

Once satisfied she had everyone’s full attention, she sat, and it was as if a collective breath was let out.

It struck Bronwyn at that moment that she was at court, but something serious, possibly momentous, was to happen. But what?

She did not have to wait long, for the empress’s husky, alto voice called out, “Bring in the prisoner.”

It echoed in the hall, which was warm, and heads turned, as the pair of guards at the main entrance stamped their spears against the floor again and this time opened the doors with a great and mighty creak.

Heads craned to see, as did Bronwyn. And then she saw it.

King Stephen, standing at the entrance, in chains.