A Love For All Seasons (5 page)

"Have you no shame?" Master Walter's deep voice crashed through their arguments. "Would you send a child back to a man who has done such harm? I say if his father wants him no more, let his godparents see to his welfare as is only right."

"He has none," Margretta replied with a sorry shake of her head. "His godfathers died years ago, and fire took his godmother and all her family this past winter, God rest their souls. There's no one else."

Rob turned his face into Master Walter's chest. He was alone, alone, alone.

The merchant's arms around him tightened. Startled, Rob looked up at him. Master Walter's expression was grim as he stared at Blacklea's folk.

"If none of you will protect him, I will, charging every one of you to bend your knees before your priest for you sorely lack Christian charity." The merchant looked down at the child in his arms. "Why, this very morn I caught myself thinking on how I needed me a new scullery lad."

Despite the kindness that dwelt in Master Walter's pale blue eyes, terror made Rob shrink within himself. The merchant was a stranger who lived in a place that was not Blacklea. To leave Papa, Gretta, his home, and everything familiar would be worse than dying.

"Master Walter, what are you saying?" The complaint, made in a fine tenor voice, rose from the broken cart at the crowd's far edge.

Blacklea's folk parted to let a youth of barely more than a score of summers pass. Although the green gown beneath his brown mantle was fine, his pin was plain, and he wore no jewels upon his fingers. As short as Papa, the young man had golden hair and clear skin. A slender nose set high above a soft mouth lent him an almost girlish beauty. Just now, an expression of pained concern darkened his high brow.

"Master, you can do these backward folk no favor by taking on what should be their burden," the youth began as he stopped before the spice merchant. "Come, let us retire to the manor house as the bailiff has invited whilst they decide the issue among themselves." His gaze dropped to Rob. Apprehension flashed through his luminous brown eyes as his nose wrinkled. "Jesu, but he stinks. He's ruined your gown with his filth."

"Better a ruined gown than a broken boy, Katel," Master Walter replied in gentle chastisement.

This Katel stepped closer to lay a cajoling hand on the big man's arm. "Master," he said in a whisper, "I know you mean well, but there are times when you blind yourself to the obvious. Can you not see how these scheming folk plot against the weight of your purse? I say this whole matter was arranged for your benefit so they might foist this bit of offal onto you."

"Katel," Master Walter cried softly, his voice filled with surprise, "what eats at you this morn that makes you callous? To what corner of the world has your compassion flown?"

"But, Master," this Katel persisted, his voice touched with fear, "he's a bastard. You should not sully your prominence and prestige by involving yourself with one so unworthy of your attention."

Master Walter studied the youth for a quiet moment, compassion touching his blue gaze. "Katel, you mistake me for your sire. This boy is nothing to me. You, on the other hand, will someday be the master spicer and I but your father-by-marriage."

Despite his master's reassuring words, the youth shot a worried glance at Rob, as if he still feared being usurped in his master's affection. He bowed his head. "I beg pardon for misjudging you, Master Walter."

"Given," the spice merchant said easily as Katel retreated to a spot beyond Rob's view.

Master Walter scanned Blacklea's folk. "Be you all my witnesses in this." To Papa, he said, "I'll give you ten pence for the lad, purchasing him as my servant. When he has earned back that sum by his efforts on my behalf, I will free him to do as he pleases in the world."

"He's yours on the condition he not call himself my son," Papa retorted.

A tiny whimper escaped Rob. He wasn't a bastard. Papa was his father, just as Dickon was Harold's son. This was too much to bear. Every muscle loosened, and he hung in the merchant's arms, too heartsore to protest.

"Rest assured that I will never name this lad your son," Master Walter replied, his words iron hard. With that, the merchant turned and strode back to his cart.

"Aleric, you'll transport our lad home. Use my horse as he's the stronger. We'll surely be back on the road by the morrow's dawn, so you should catch us there the day after." He glanced sourly at the broken wain. "We'd better be on the road by the morrow, else this is the last time I do favors for monks."

"I doubt that, Master," Aleric said with a quiet smile. As he slung the waterskin's strap over his shoulder, another man led forward a great white steed, its trappings as magnificent as its rider's attire.

When Aleric had mounted, Master Walter lifted Rob into his man's arms. Rob moaned as he was jostled and shoved into the saddle before Master Walter's servant. His head fell back against the man's chest. Aleric's vest reeked of sweat and, despite its padding, had not even a hint of softness to it.

"I have me an idea," Master Walter said, still standing at his man's knee. "When you arrive home, tell my daughter I have decided to put her promises and pleadings to the test."

"He's giving way," someone near the group's rear muttered, and laughter rippled over the spice merchant's men.

"I am not," the merchant retorted, his voice rising slightly in self-defense. "Aleric, tell my daughter that the healing of this lad is to be her first chore as mistress of my house. If she succeeds in the task, I'll consider allowing her to forgo learning her letters to do as she claims the other lasses do and begin learning household management."

"Aye, Master," Aleric said, setting heels to the horse.

With a call of
Fare-you-well
the man turned his borrowed mount and set it to trotting away from Blacklea's green. The jolting gait made stars again appear before Rob's vision. With naught but despair left in him he let the blackness swallow him. His heart was broken, and he would die for certain now.

Seated on a stool at the center of the spice merchant's new hall, Walter of Stanrudde's only child looked down at the portable desk in her lap. From beneath the concealment of Johanna's blue skirts, a tiny paw emerged. New claws, sharp as pins, caught at her stockinged ankle. Choking back a giggle, Johanna stared at the parchment spread atop the desk's sloping surface.

It was her third lesson in reading. This time she tried, she truly did; she stared at that sheet until her eyes crossed. The parchment was worn, its edges smudged and finger-marked by the countless students who had used it before her. Where her tutor, Brother Mathias, swore there were words, she found nothing save swirling ink stains.

Frustration weighed heavily on Johanna's heart. It wasn't the lessons she minded so much, it was Brother Mathias; he liked teaching her no more than she liked being taught by him. But, someday she would marry Katel, Papa's oldest apprentice, and Katel wished her to learn to read and keep the accounts.

Johanna reminded herself she was fortunate to be betrothed to one as handsome as Katel, or so said the gaggle of lasses who labored in Papa's house and the apothecary shop. She should be trying to please him, since it was Katel who'd given her her new kitten; Puss was to serve as a reminder of their betrothal while Katel and Papa were traveling.

They'd be gone all summer, and it would be years and years before she and Katel could marry. Vindicated in her reluctance to complete this lesson, Johanna set to teasing the kitten hiding beneath her stool. This time, the youngling tom sank its claws past her stocking and into her skin. A squeak of pain slipped out from between her clamped lips.

Instantly, Johanna bowed her head over the parchment and formed deep creases on her brow. Only when she wore this expression did Brother Mathias believe she was trying. The silence in the room continued uninterrupted. When Johanna could bear it no longer, she peered up from her pose.

Hands cupped behind his back, Brother Mathias stood before the wide, arched opening in this chamber's western wall. The white surplice that lay atop his black habit gleamed in the late afternoon light. Beneath dark hair gone rusty with age, her tutor's face was heavy in the cheeks and weak at the chin. The monk's brown eyes, honed over years of tutoring the scion of Stanrudde's merchant class, narrowed in suspicion and reproach.

"Lower your gaze," he commanded, no affection in his tone.

Dutifully, Johanna turned her gaze back to the angled wooden box in her lap. Brother Mathias detested her habit of staring directly at him. He said such behavior made her lewd. Johanna wrinkled her nose in contempt. Even she knew eight was too young for that. Lewdness was something done by wild apprentices and maids with breasts.

"Are you finished?" Mathias bit out.

"I am still pondering this word," she answered, stabbing a finger toward the center of the skin.

"Hurry it. Vespers will soon be upon us." Once again, he put his back to her.

Good. It shouldn't be too hard to stall until Mathias had to leave for the priory. She held her meek pose for another moment then raised her head to look at the whitewashed wall across from her. Instead of wood, Papa's new house was made up of walls of rounded stones. Although the inner wall wore a coat of plaster, the plasterer had let the texture of the stones show through. Thus, what should have been a flat surface became a swirling maze to tease her eye.

Johanna followed one looping avenue over and around the stones until her gaze touched on the wooden dividing wall that cleaved this long room into two, hall and bedchamber. In the far corner stood three chests, one painted in shades of green, one brown detailed with blue, the third a rusty color bound with brass. The rusty-colored one held their linens, while the others contained what had been her mother's wealth in serving platters, their aquamanile, the ewers, and eating utensils. They were her dowry and would stay so, even if Papa married again and got himself a son.

She glanced impatiently back to the window and the monk. Brother Mathias hadn't moved. How much longer?

Just then, the kitten hiding beneath her skirts laid his head upon his mistress's foot and purred; Johanna's toes thrummed with his pleasure. The corners of her mouth quirked upward at the sensation. Unable to resist, she tilted her head to one side until the tail of one golden-red braid brushed the floor. Puss's purring stopped. Back and forth her plait's end swept, just outside the edge of her hems. A ball of gray fur erupted from beneath her skirt. The kitten sank his claws into the leather thong that bound her hair, flipped himself onto his back, and kicked joyously at this new toy. Johanna snickered as the kitten turned in frantic play, leaping, pouncing, and chasing at the thick layer of rushes that covered the floor around him.

"What is this?" Mathias roared. He leapt for the kitten, foot raised to smash the wee creature's head. "Begone, you servant of Satan!"

"Nay!" Johanna shrieked, launching herself off the stool. The desk smashed on the floor; the stool clattered onto its side. She caught the monk by his cord belt and shoved at him. "Katel gave him to me! You leave him alone!"

Startled by her attack, Mathias stumbled, missing his prey. All his fur on end, Puss hissed, the sound bigger than he. Still spitting, he fled the hall for the bedchamber.

The monk turned on Johanna, his eyes wild at such unbelievable boldness. "Foul bitch, not only do you dare to reprimand your better, you shoved me!" His words were a raging breath.

Johanna took a backward step. Mathias grabbed her arm and raised his hand. Concern turned into shock. It had never occurred to her the monk would strike her. Papa never hit her, no matter how angry she made him

"Helewise!" she shrieked in fear.

The housekeeper must have been waiting just inside Papa's bedchamber door, for she swept into the room almost before Johanna's call left her mouth. Helewise's green overgown and brown undergown clung to her ample curves. Held to her head by a thin metal circlet, a fragile veil draped the housekeeper's unremarkable face, the fashionable loop of fabric beneath her jaw serving to support a second set of chins. As she stopped beside her charge, she lowered her head as did every demure female when facing a man, especially a churchman. But, behind Johanna's back where the monk couldn't see, the housekeeper caught a fistful of her charge's gown.

"Brother Mathias, what goes forward here?" Helewise's voice was soft, her tone filled with naught but feminine distress.

"Stand back, servant. This insufferable daughter of Eve has dared not only to speak rudely to me, but to lay hands upon my person. She will be chastised."

"Brother, I cannot oppose you, for if she did as you say, she richly deserves the lesson. However, might it not be better if Master Walter delivered it? Her attack on you has done her sire the greater damage as her behavior maligns both his house and reputation. He'll want to see the lesson truly learned, I think me."

Johanna stared at the rushes on the floor as she set to bargaining with God. Papa said Helewise could bend any man to her will using naught but her sweet demeanor and soft words. It was this skill, not cooking or cleaning, he urged his sulking, tantruming daughter to learn. Should Helewise succeed this day, Johanna vowed to do as her father requested.

Vesper's call began as an alto clanging at St. Stephen's, Stanrudde's northernmost church, then rolled from holy house to holy house, until the abbey's church bell added its thundering tones to the sweet cacophony. The faithful had best hurry; there was naught but a quarter hour before the start of the evening service.

With an irate breath, Mathias released his grip on Johanna's arm. "I stay my hand solely for her sire's sake," the monk hissed. "Never should I have allowed Master Walter to twist me into this. Tell him she is a terrible child and an even worse student. I'll not return to this task until she kneels before me, begging my forgiveness and displaying the welts he has raised upon her."

Johanna dared to peek up at Brother Mathias in surprise. He was refusing to teach her? The monk shot her another raging look then leaned down to fetch his parchment from the ruins of the desk. With skin in hand, he strode for the hall's exit. Still stunned, Johanna listened as he clattered into the stone forebuilding, which shielded the house's exterior stairway from the elements. The massive door at the forebuilding's base creaked as it opened.

"Good evening, Brother Mathias." Arthur, Papa's younger apprentice, called his greeting to his tutor from the yet open workshop window in next door's apothecary shop. Liking the twelve-year-old lad only a little better than he did Johanna, Mathias did not respond.

Johanna sagged against Helewise in amazement. She was free! Elation swiftly reached the end of its tether, and her spirits crashed back to earth. Papa would be furious when he returned from his tour of the summer fairs. And, Brother Mathias wanted to see welts. A start of fear went through her. She looked up at Helewise. "Will Papa beat me?"

Now that the crisis was passed, irritation clouded the housekeeper's face. "Well he ought, little mistress. I think it a shame your sire believes himself too big to use a reprimanding hand on any soul. Your strongheadedness dearly demands just such a punishment." She levered Johanna away from her, then aimed an accusing finger at her charge. "Were you my daughter I'd have your hide. What sort of woman will you become if you behave this way? You are headed on the road to destruction, I tell you. Why, every woman in the world knows better than to lay hands on a churchman."

Outrage returned, tearing through all Johanna's new promises to behave. "But, Brother Mathias meant to hurt Puss!"

Helewise made an impatient sound. "And here's another instance where your father coddled you. He should never have allowed Katel to give you that cat. That creature has twice gotten into the milk this day."

"Aleric!" Once again, Arthur's voice rose from the street-side window a storey below them and drifted through the open window.

"What are you doing here, and who is that in your arms?" the apprentice shouted.

"Arthur, come you and help me with the master's horse," Papa's most important servant called to the apprentice, his deep voice ringing in the quieting air.

Helewise gasped, all color draining from her face. Johanna's heart lurched. Helewise said the road was dangerous for any man, but all the more so for a rich one. She made Johanna pray three times a day for her sire while Papa was journeying.

Johanna leapt for the hall's exit, her plaits flying. Helewise was close on her heels. Dashing into the forebuilding, she careened down the steps, her path lit by what bit of the dying day's light streamed in through the two tiny windows at the forebuilding's western roofline. At the base of the building, she dodged around the half-opened door, turning away from Market Lane as she headed back behind the house.

Their private courtyard was nothing more than the space caught between the house, outbuildings, and the wall that surrounded Herebert the Ropemaker's enclave. Just now, Aleric stood at its center, his back to her. Papa's big white horse snorted and huffed next to him. Sweat stained the steed's flanks, while the bright saddle trappings were fouled. As chubby Arthur claimed the horse's reins, Aleric turned.

Johanna stopped short. In the agent's arms lay a lad, dried blood and dark purpling covering every bit of his visible skin. The breeze lifted, flowing from Aleric to her. Johanna's stomach twisted. The lad smelled worse than the beggars who gathered around the priory.

"Aleric, what of the master?" Helewise cried out, nearly stumbling over Johanna in her haste to reach her brother.

"Worrier," Aleric chided with a brief smile. "I'd have said were aught wrong. I am but returning with Master Walter's newest servant."

Helewise laid a gentle hand on the boy's brow "Holy Mother of God, what happened to him?"

"He was beaten by his sire as that man attempted to drive him from their home." There was deep affront in Aleric's low tones.

Johanna took a step back, her heart aching. This was what Brother Mathias wished Papa would do to her. She took another backward step, wanting only to escape looking on what might be her own fate.

Aleric's gaze caught hers. "Nay, you cannot leave, little mistress. You must tell me what I'm to do with the lad. Your father has made the healing of him your task."

"Mine?" she squeaked in surprise. She knew nothing of healing. That was Helewise job.

"Aye. He says if you do well in it, he'll delay your reading lessons, honoring instead your request to manage his house."

She stared at the tall servant, shock giving way to relief, then gratitude to God. The Almighty had done better than answer her prayer. He had saved her. Squaring her shoulders, Johanna thrust out her chin and strode to Aleric's side. The tall man made an odd choking sound, but Johanna ignored him to squinch her eyes just as Helewise did when she looked at the sick. Oh, but this boy was so hurt. She was only eight. What if she couldn't heal him?

Chewing her lower lip, Johanna looked up at Helewise. The housekeeper's brows rose, inviting her charge to spill a treatment plan. Johanna racked her brain, seeking to remember what Helewise did for those ailing folk who crossed their threshold.

"He needs to be in the kitchen, lying on a pallet before the hearth where it's warm?" This was a fairly safe wager as the kitchen's hearth was where Helewise always laid the sick.

A touch of a smile appeared at the corners of the housekeeper's mouth. "And, what else?"

"His clothing should be removed, and the filth washed from his wounds?" That's what Helewise had done for the beggar who'd dropped at their doorstep last winter. Glancing at the years-old burn mark on the back of her hand, she added, "Then we must put salves on his bruises and cuts?"

"Aye, that's a well-thought plan, little mistress," Helewise said. "Who will you have me send to fetch a pallet from the hall?"

"Arthur?" Johanna asked.

Helewise's head bobbed once in approval, and she called the command into the stable. At Arthur's positive response, the housekeeper turned to her brother. "Aye then, our little mistress says we're for the kitchen, Aleric."