Godiva (24 page)

If her closest subordinates were willing to behave that way, what awaited her out among the stranger, ruder populace? This was a new hamlet, and the people did not know her well.

The two women walked across the courtyard to the stable. Godiva could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck, at her temple. She could hear her blood rushing through her, as if it were a thing outside herself, the murmur of the sea on the Northumbrian coast.

The day was dry, as too many had been this spring, and it was sunny. The stable was absolutely empty, with only one horse remaining in it. With a stab of panic Godiva realized she had made no provisions for her horse—she would ride the mare, of course, but how was she to control it? Should it be bridled? Edward had said it should be naked too. What if she used a bridle and then, having survived all of this humiliation, the king claimed it did not count because she had defied him by bridling the horse?

Edward's harrying the town would have been easier. The villagers could have taken refuge in the manor and Godiva would have paid to rebuild all their houses. It would have cost far, far less than the heregeld. She opened her mouth to make this point to Edgiva, but by then they had reached the stable, and Edgiva pointed almost cheerfully to Godiva's mare, a broad-boned palfrey, waiting just inside, haltered by the mounting block. A slender horsehair cord—the mare's own, by the color—was tied around the horse's nose, with enough length to it that Edgiva could hold it and guide the mare with nothing else.

“Thank you, Leofric,” Godiva said softly. Edgiva nodded.

They were alone in the stable. The smell of horses had never been so sharp in Godiva's nose. Perhaps because she had never breathed it in combined with her own wakeful nervousness.

“I am frightened,” she told Edgiva.

“No, you're not,” the abbess said, sounding wise and calm and abbesslike, and not at all like the distraught woman who was so upset with her. “If Leofric's life were dependent upon your not falling off and making a fool of yourself, or if you had to survive being dunked, or walking along the edge of a canyon without falling, then you would be frightened. This is not fear. This is something so much smaller that is fooling you into believing it is fear. Do not be fooled.”

There was the mounting block—the same mounting block she used every time she was in Coventry, a block identical to every block she used at every stable in Mercia. She looked at it now, felt the grain of the wood as her bare toes trod upon it, and it became the most unusual and fascinating of objects ever under her feet. The strange sea-murmur had not subsided; it was as if the air around her had its own pulse.

She rested her hands on the mare's low withers, leaned her weight forward slightly and swung her right leg over the mare's broad back, pushing off from the mounting block with her left foot. Her cloak swirled heavily with her as she moved.

She was astride the horse.

It felt, to her surprise, comfortable and unremarkable. The mare had been well groomed that morning, was warm from standing in the sunlight; its bare back was softer than a saddle, and the skin of Godiva's thighs and shins, used to woolen stockings and wraps, was indifferent to the smooth horsehair. It hardly felt different from riding bareback in skirts.

She nodded to Edgiva, who pressed her hand against the horse's far cheek to turn its head. The mare could feel Godiva's unease; it was a very gentle palfrey, but its rider's anxiety made it fussy. It tossed its head in disagreement and ignored Edgiva.

“Come, my lady,” the abbess cooed firmly. With her left hand holding the lead of the horsehair halter, she once again reached under the horse's neck and rested her strong fingers on its cheek to turn its head out.

This time the mare stepped with her. Godiva felt an uncomfortable thrill at having no direct control over the animal. They walked out of the shade of the stable, across the small courtyard that suddenly seemed smaller than ever.

They reached the gate almost instantly. With a nervous sigh, Godiva reached to unpin her brooch, but Edgiva held up a hand, and she paused. The abbess listened intently to something that Godiva could not hear, because again her pulse was throbbing too loudly in her head. Edgiva glanced over her shoulder with a slightly alarmed expression.

“What is it?” Godiva asked, feeling helpless.

“Keep your cloak on,” she whispered, and pushed at the gate. It gave a little, then paused, and then with some fitful movements, it opened slowly.

Edgiva saw them all a heartbeat before Godiva did, and took in an audible breath. Godiva marked Edgiva's reaction, then Leofric—who sat on his horse there outside the gate, awaiting them—looked toward her, and his gaze pulled her away from Edgiva's startled expression. He was horrified.

Coventry was overrun with people. From their dress they seemed mostly farmers or serfs, and by their numbers they must have come from dozens, perhaps scores of miles, in all directions. Every hamlet, village, farm, and manor within two days' ride or three days' walk—they all must be emptied of inhabitants except those too old or sick to travel. They were all in Coventry. There were at least a thousand people here. The crowd disappeared out of sight down the road, and probably went all the way to Edward, waiting at the monastery. They had not been here yesterday, and there had been no sign of them at dawn today, so they must have come all at once, which was too extraordinary to conceive. They must have arrived almost silently, like an army. That meant they were here under somebody's direction.

Edward's.

There was anonymity in their drab dress, their lack of pennants, decoration, or livery. They were Everyman and Everywoman. They had been sent for, and they had arrived. Most likely, they were Godiva's own people and maybe Leofric's, summoned by the king's messengers to bear witness to . . . something. Did they know? What did they know?

Leofric, moments earlier, had come out here thinking he would speak to a few score villagers. He was still recovering from the shock of this enormous massing.

Godiva felt herself grow pale, felt her mouth fall open, and fought to keep her balance as a heavy dizziness immediately pushed down on her from the cool spring air.

“Who are you?” Leofric demanded of the crowd.

That was a useless question: very few of them answered, and those that did spoke over each other in sheepish voices revealing nothing: “Alred,” said one. “A serf from Evesham,” said another. “A freeman tenant of yours, milord.” Voices created a mumbled, apologetic cacophony of no good information.

“Did King Edward summon you?” asked Edgiva's strong voice, more loudly than ever Godiva was used to hearing it.

“Yes, lady,” came the nearly unanimous response.

“Thank you, Mother,” Leofric said softly, and then even more softly, cursed. Raising his voice again: “
Why
did he summon you?”

The response was untranslatable muttering.

Leofric scanned the crowd and then pointed slowly with one gloved finger to an older man with the leather apron of a farrier. “You, fellow. Tell me for what purpose the king has collected you.”

The man bowed, calmly, and shook his head. “My Lord, he gave no reason, just sent his men round to tell us that if we appeared here today we would witness something wondrous.”

There was nodding and assenting grunts near him, and the phrase “something wondrous” was repeated three or four rows deep.

“I see,” said Leofric. “Something touching my lady wife?”

The man bowed again. “Not that he said, my Lord. I guessed it must be, as this is her hamlet, but the king's messenger said nothing.”

With a grimace, Leofric glanced at the two women.

“Look closer,” Edgiva said, reaching up with her free hand to tug Leofric's sleeve. “Look how many children there are in this crowd. And look at the farmers.”

There were at least three dozen lambs—very young, a few days old—hoisted over the thick necks of ruddy-faced men. But stranger than that, fully a third of the crowd—hundreds of people—held clay pots or small leather bags, and they seemed to be holding these toward the gate, as if in offering.

“You there,” Leofric said gruffly to a young man near the front. The fellow held a wooden box, the size of his head, out before him. He was dressed like a farmer, but cleaner than most, and groomed enough to suggest personal industry. “What is in that box?”

The young man blinked at him a moment; unlike the farrier, he was nervous to be singled out. “Sod from my farm, milord,” he finally said. “For the lady to bless.”

“Ah,” said Edgiva. “Of course. Ask the closest man with a lamb—”

“Fellow, with the red hair,” Leofric called out. “Why have you brought livestock to stare at my wife?”

“So she could bless the creature and so bless my flock,” said the fellow, trying to bow without dislodging his mewling burden.

“Did the king tell you to do this?” Leofric demanded. He glanced briefly back at Godiva, almost accusingly.

“No, milord,” the fellow said, surprised. “It was obvious. Given the hard years we have had it is only right. We all heard the lady performed the Land Ceremony and then it rained for the only time in weeks. So when we heard there would be something wondrous, I knew it would include her blessing.”

“Woden's knees, this will play right into Edward's hands,” Leofric muttered with barely contained fury.

“Why?” said Edgiva. “It has nothing to do with what happens in a church. This is to make sure the crops grow and the livestock multiply. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and render to the gods of harvest and herds. Godiva already proved she was game to help them by performing the Land Ceremony charm. Now they hope she will intervene directly, without the bother of the Church.”

“That is just what Edward will want,” Leofric repeated. “A suggestion of paganism. If the countess does not willingly give him Coventry, he shall take Coventry from the witch.”

“Never mind that,” said Godiva, shivering beneath her cloak. “How do we keep them all from staring at me while I'm naked?”

“I think I can help you there,” Edgiva said. “If I may have leave?”

“If you think you can possibly improve things,” Leofric said with resignation.

“Good people,” Edgiva called out. She was not on horseback and many could not see her. Scores—hundreds—of people were frowning and craning their necks.

“Talk louder,” Godiva recommended.

“Talk for me,” she countered. “Talk for yourself. Repeat whatever I say. Good people—”

“Good people,” Godiva called out.

“Louder.”

“Good people!”

“Look upon me for a moment.”

“I thought we were trying to make them
not
look—”

“Look upon me for a moment.”

“Look upon me for a moment!”

“I will gladly bless each of you, and your offerings, at the far side of the village—”

Godiva repeated this, uncertainly.

“—but I will only bless those who keep their gaze averted while I am disrobed.”

“Oh dear God,” Godiva whispered. “Do they even know I am about to do that?”

“Find out,” said Edgiva. “I will only bless those who keep their gaze—”

“I will only bless those who keep their gaze averted while I am disrobed!” the countess declared hurriedly.

No, they had not known that. The immediate uproar was proof.

“Silence!” Godiva shouted. “All blessings come with a price! The price today is that I must see proof of your devotion before I give you proof of mine!”

Edgiva looked over her shoulder, up at Godiva, startled.

Godiva suddenly felt exhilarated. “Turn your backs on me at once, and march all together to the green that lies just on the far side of the monastery walls, past Coffa's Tree. I will be there moments after you, and at that time you will each be blessed. But until every one of you has removed yourself from the main street of Coventry, I shall stay here and there will be no blessing!”

“That's enough,” Leofric advised. “You sound like you believe yourself.”

They watched.

There were a few moments of hovering uncertainty. The people on the outskirts of the group did not want to further distance themselves, and they did nothing. However, the men whom Leofric had called out for questioning fixed decisive grimaces on their faces and turned to push their way through the crowd. That turned it; suddenly the entire wave of visitors and residents wanted to reach the far side of the monastery, and now those on the outskirts, suddenly on the front line of the new receiving area, very nearly ran down the road and out of sight.

In the time it takes to draw water from a deep well, there were only a handful of stragglers before the gate. These were all youths, just barely sprouting beards. It was obvious why they had stayed.

“I am no fetching young virgin,” Godiva called out to them. “It really is not worth the wait. I have the boniest knees in Christendom.”

They giggled, looked at each other, at their feet, and did not move.

“I will send my housecarls to smack you with clubs if you do not find other entertainment,” said Leofric with contained, almost bored, annoyance.

The youths left at once.

They were alone now, the three of them, before the gate.

“Thank you,” Godiva said to both her companions, with a shaky sigh.

“I'll ride ahead,” said Leofric grimly. He tightened his heels against his horse's sides and it skitted forward, tail swishing and knees lifting high; like Godiva's mare, Leofric's mount felt his agitation.

He looked over his shoulder and said quietly, almost grimly, “Know that I love you, Godiva, no matter what follows from this,” then immediately faced forward again and clucked his horse into a trot.

Edgiva looked up over her shoulder. “Are you ready?” she asked.