By Right of Arms (31 page)

“With your permission, messire, I would go to Perrine’s household before she comes to Faon’s rooms. I have not shared a private word with her since your arrival some months ago, and I do not like to go to her when she labors for Faon.”

He frowned slightly. “Where is the need, Aurélie? Do you require privacy for some plot you hatch? Does Perrine spy for you?”

She sat down on the bed beside him and pulled one of his hands into both of hers. “Nay, Hyatt, never that. Perrine is my closest friend; she was my confidant and adviser for many years. She was the one to coddle and shelter me when I came here for Giles, for I was only nine years old and a bride. And over the years she gave me comfort. I have not needed her shelter, nor am I in want of advice, but I do miss her, Hyatt. In times gone by we would sit before a winter hearth and talk of women’s things, or gather summer flowers and share our ideas on the raising of children, the baking of bread.” She shrugged and looked down. “If it worries you, I need not go.”

He squeezed her hand. “I will take your word that it is only woman’s chatter you long for.”

“It is no more serious than that, Hyatt,” she said, rising to leave him. Her hand instinctively went to her middle. “I find I have a great deal of concern. Perrine’s counsel will be welcome.”

Hyatt stood and gently lifted her chin. “Aurélie, I know nothing about what a woman feels as she prepares to give birth and I fear I cannot ease your mind or give you advice. I will be useless to you. You are wise to seek out Perrine.”

Aurélie smiled and touched his cheek. “You needn’t feel useless, Hyatt. I believe you’ve done your part.”

A roguish grin appeared on his handsome face. “It was my pleasure,
chérie.”
He kissed her nose. “Go ahead, you needn’t fear my suspicious nature this morning.”

“Thank you, Hyatt,” she said most sincerely. “That means a great deal more to me than you know.”

As dawn struggled to rise, the sky was a gray tinged with streaks of gold against the clouds, the air cool and misty. There was no need for a wrap, and the dampness that came with the morning dew promised an afternoon of simmering, boiling heat. Once outside the hall and past the inner bailey, Aurélie could see the rising of smoke above the cottages from peat fires that were started to boil some morning meal or warm water for washing. The same rising cloud came from the seneschal’s house, and when Aurélie knocked and called out to Perrine she was quickly admitted.

Perrine had not yet bound up her hair and a loose braid, still messy from sleeping, trailed down her back. She wore her wrapper and padded around her large room in her bare feet. “Come in, love. Sit down and I’ll give you a drink of milk drawn from the goat just a moment ago. What brings you here? Are you in some trouble?”

“Nay, Perrine … but it seems I never see you anymore, never talk to you at all. And I did not want to go to Faon’s rooms.”

“Aye,” the woman smiled, understanding at once. When Aurélie found a stool by the single table in the room, Perrine dipped a ladle into a bucket and passed her a cup of goat’s milk. “You’re wise to stay far from that woman’s quarters. She’d slit your throat in a trice, lass. She is a hateful creature.”

“But the boy?” Aurélie asked.

“A joy,” Perrine said, her wrinkled flesh folding around her mouth and eyes as she smiled with genuine sincerity. “Talk to me, lass, while I dress.”

“Guillaume is already up and gone?” she asked.

Perrine went to stand behind a curtain that separated their eating and living quarters from a sleeping space. “Aye, we’re all alone, lamb. Tell me how you’ve been.”

“I am well, Perrine. Have you heard … I am with child?”

There was a long silent moment in which Aurélie did not even hear the rustling of clothes. Perrine must have stood shocked still in the next room. “Aye,” the servant finally replied, “I had heard; this must please you well, my lady. ’Tis what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

“A long time,” she said in a breath.

Aurélie sipped her milk and heard the sound of Perrine dressing. She relaxed a bit, looking about the seneschal’s house. She had always liked this room. Although it was modest, there was a warm feeling here. Perrine and Guillaume had raised a family here, their sons grown and about their adult responsibilities. One had gone to a monastery, one to a larger city to take up a trade, and two were still living in the village with their wives and children.

“Do you remember, Perrine, when I first arrived, how frightened I was?” She laughed at the memory. “I did not know what to expect of this man I was to wed, this son of the bold and arrogant Sire de Pourvre. And then I met Giles; he was only a few years older than I … and almost as frightened as I.”

The curtain pulled back and Perrine came again into the room wearing her gray wool tunic and a scarf tied around her bound hair. “It does not seem so long ago, does it?”

“Oh, now it does. Lifetimes ago.” She knew the sadness in her own voice. “Did you know that he slept on the floor beside the bed? Walked with pebbles in his shoes? He slept only in a monk’s habit and was mostly unwashed.” Perrine sought a stool nearby her mistress, but said nothing. “He had overcome the flesh, sought no pleasure, did not hold money away from God, and confessed every day. Betimes he beat himself with ropes into which he had tied knots that bruised his flesh.
Salvandorum paucitas, damnandorum multitudo.
Few to be saved, many to be damned. Perrine,” she said, looking at her woman, “was he one of the few?”

Perrine reached into her mistress’s lap and squeezed her hand. “Madame, do not torment yourself over Giles. If he is not saved now, there is nothing you can do.”

She shook her head and bit her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “Was I a good enough wife while he lived, Perrine? I did not betray him, did I? I did not hurt him too badly, did I?”

“Let it be, lass. You cannot bring Giles back, nor can you undo any harm done while he lived. Any pain, Giles brought to himself. He was possessed.”

“Yea. And he possessed nothing. I pity the manchild that is born, for too much rests on him. He is never to seek a mother’s love, yet craves it. He is never to be weak, never to doubt, never to need, never to let another soul know that he stands on sand and not rock … all the days of his life. You knew Giles was beset, did you not?”

Perrine looked at Aurélie for a long moment before she spoke. “Yea,” she whispered in a breath.

“Did you know my torment, Perrine? We never spoke of it in clear words; never spoke of Giles’s strange obsessions and how much alone I was. Perhaps I was not so alone—I had you and Guillaume, my parents and friends. I had the wall—I commanded the archers and knights, sometimes through Giles, sometimes forthrightly. I rode as well as a man, ciphered the sums, and hid away livres to buy food when the harvest failed. I worked; merciful Holy Mother, I worked so hard that I slept exhausted, ofttimes without even my prayers.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Perhaps I fell into sleep without my prayers too often.”

Perrine saw that she was becoming distraught, though the reason remained unclear. The older woman opened her arms and Aurélie fell into her embrace, sobbing onto Perrine’s soft shoulder. “There, my angel, you did not cry so when you were brought word of his death.”

Aurélie cried heavily for many long moments. The sound of a rooster’s crow could be heard by the time the mistress was able to pull away and wipe at her tears with her sleeve. She straightened her spine and sniffed back the emotion. “I had wanted to be a mother, and did not see that I had been for many years.”

“You must let go of Giles soon, my lady. ’Tis unwise to be so filled with his memory while you live as Hyatt’s wife.”

Aurélie shook her head with a laugh. “Oh, Perrine, I buried Giles long before he died. ’Tis for this that I burn with guilt and shame. I cared for his house with great zeal. I was comfortable with Giles because he was familiar; there was never any surprise. As his wife I had great power. The people came to
me!
I ruled; there was never any question. I had no strength but my own; I had no love but what I felt for De la Noye, which became my child. When Giles was killed, I did not mourn the husband I lost—I grieved for the power that was taken from me. No kingdom on earth would allow a woman alone to rule, but a woman wed to a weak man could rule and no one would argue. I knew exactly what I lost when I buried Giles; I lost my lordship here.

“Perrine,” she went on in a whisper, “Hyatt found me a virgin; Giles never even consummated our marriage.”

Perrine’s eyes flared slightly, but she kept her reaction small. Her mouth pierced into a tight line as she held her angry emotions back from her mistress. “I had wondered …”

“But conquer he did, in every feasible way. He holds this castle most firmly and the people herein are the better for his lordship. He has conquered me, for I carry his child and it even moves in me. To feel this life within my body brings me joy. He is the strong arm I longed for, and however heavily I lean, he does not show the strain. He has the wisdom in his disciplines that allow those who know him to trust him. And would you think ill of me if I told you that in those private moments when we share a pallet, I hold him dearly? He brings me pleasure, Perrine, such as I had not known was possible.”

Perrine’s hand caressed Aurélie’s damp cheek, her eyes softened by understanding and sympathy. “Then do not weep, my lady, unless you weep for joy.”

“He does not love me. He is most suspicious of women, and with just cause.”

“In time, my lady. Since he can be good, strong, wise, and tender, can you not nibble on those tasty bites until the full feast arrives?”

“He fears to love a woman. His mother died when he was young, abandoning him to a failing father. His stepmother was wicked and accused him of adultery with her, which had him beaten and cast from his father’s house in shame, though he was innocent. His mistress, whom you serve, tricked and betrayed him, and he houses her to keep safe his son. Perrine, he is as tormented as Giles was, though their demons are of another sort.”

“My lady, listen to me. Do you fear him?”

“Oh, nay. I am not frightened of him now.”

“You depend on his strength? His ability?”

“Aye, Perrine. I told you so.”

“You feel joy in those tender moments? You are pleased that you have brought his seed to life?”

“Aye. Why do you ask me these things?”

“Many a mighty warrior has sworn no need of love and yet has sung that light verse with great gusto when he feels love come. Be easy on him, my lady. Grant him acts that show your worth and devotion. Leave him be till he mends his own hurts. Time willing, he will admit that he can love.”

“But Perrine, how should I wish this from him? He is my enemy. The enemy of my country.”

“Nay,” she whispered. “He is your husband, father of your child. And, I think, a worthy man.”

The tears came anew. Aurélie’s eyes first welled up, deep and liquid in emotion, dropping over her lower lids and spilling down her cheeks.

“Aurélie,” Perrine whispered, “you have buried the man who could not be your husband, and wed the strong knight. Forget that he is the enemy. Here, why do you weep?”

“Perrine, I love him so … and I am so afraid …”

“Hush, Aurélie. Afraid? I have loved my Guillaume for thirty years and I know there is strength to be found in the love a man and woman share.”

“Did you not tremble when he battled and met the enemy? Worry each time he rode away and collapse into exhaustion when he returned, safe? Did your heart never bleed with the stabbing fear that he would never feel this for you? And the shame of such wanton desires; to love a man who sees only utility in the marriage. Oh, Perrine, do you know what I feel?”

Perrine put her arm around Aurélie and led her toward the door. “Oh yea, my lady, I know what fragile strings hold your heart together now. But was it better with Sir Giles, living with his torment, his obsession? Perhaps it was easier, for his pain did not really touch you. But was it better, my Aurélie?”

Perrine opened the door of her house and Aurélie saw that the sun was shining brightly outside. She sighed heavily and turned to Perrine. “Better? I cannot say. But I was not so afraid. I did not need Giles. I did not love him.”

Perrine chuckled softly. “And so you need the bold and lusty knight? Ah, my lady, how your life has changed.”

“What will I do?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

“What all women do. Let your need of his love transform you; bring dignity and honor to his name, give him the goodness in your heart, and be not weakened by what you feel, but strengthened. Only a misguided fool sees love as weakness. You are above such nonsense.”

“You will be late to Mistress Faon’s rooms. Will she punish you?”

“Nay, I think not. Come, my love, we’ll walk together. You were right to come; you have been alone with no counsel for too long and have forgotten, I think, that yours was not meant to be a simple or pampered life.” Perrine squeezed her shoulders and they looked much like mother and daughter, out walking. “Do you forget also that we cannot grow or challenge the strength of our virtues if we do not face new trials? Ah, I think Hyatt was lucky when he found you, for this once he will not suffer the treachery of a lying woman. Be steadfast, my lady, and trust your heart. And thank the Virgin that those things you prayed for came to you … albeit, by the sword.”

“He could not have come in the gentle mist of morning, riding a friendly horse,” Aurélie sighed, knowing for the first time the truth to that statement. Had Hyatt been of French blood, Giles would not have been slain. She could only have loved him as an adulteress. She would have been excommunicated, or stoned, or left to live the private shame of such debauchery. The only way she could have found herself with Hyatt, carrying his child, was by the sword.

“Thank you, Perrine. You are ever patient and wise.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she said with a smile. “You are ever in search of truth. And this is rare in those who also have power.”

“Power?” Aurélie laughed bitterly. “Oh nay, Perrine, I have none. I am the vanquished here. That power I had when I was wed to poor Giles is gone forever.”