Justice for the Damned (4 page)

Chapter
Four

With
that supple grace common to youth, sixteen-year-old Alys spun on the heel of
her soft leather shoe and marched precisely five steps away from her mother.
"I cannot accept this, and I shall not." Despite her resolute tone,
her
eyes
were moist when she turned to face the woman she loved but
longed to disobey.

The
tumult in the daughter's heart was lost on her mother. Mistress Jhone, widow of
a local woolmonger, was glowering instead at a round young man standing nearby.

Bernard,
a maker of gloves, shifted uneasily and lowered his very pink face.

Turning
her glare from him, Jhone now cast the full force of her disapproval upon her
daughter. "A child's duty is to obey her parent:
honor thy father and
thy mother.
I did not create that law. It comes from God Himself!"
Although the mother's face was wan, her robe of rough brown russet suggested
that her widowhood was recent and a disobedient daughter was not the sole
reason for her pallor.

The
young man stepped closer to the wall, glanced upward, and squeezed his eyes
shut as if in rapt concentration. Although the glover could have been praying
for protection against possible flying objects, he might have been thanking God
as well, for the two women seemed to have quickly forgotten his presence.

"A
duty in which you must be quite conversant, Mother," replied Alys. Her
voice projected a determined gentleness, but the clenched fist she pressed to
her breast hinted that her meaning was less than docile. "Sadly my
grandparents died before my birth, but I must assume, from your certainty in
this, that you did marry as your parents demanded." She breathed in deeply
as if taking in courage, then asked: "Can you claim to have been happy in
your obedience?"

Bernard
nervously cleared his throat. If he meant to remind them that another was in
the room, someone who should not hear this quarrel, his effort was wasted.

"You
choose to remember your father only when he was..." Jhone closed her eyes
and sucked in her lips if willing some unwelcome thought away. "Your
father may have been ill-tempered from time to time." Her voice quivered.
"The strain of running a successful business is hard on a man." This,
she spoke with firmness.

Alys
gave her a look that was both disbelieving and disdainful.

"Yet
he was a worthy man, provided well for us, and loved you as much as I, even
though you have now willfully decided to forget that." The mother's mouth
trembled with suppressed emotion, and she absently brushed one thin hand over
her abdomen. "Cruel daughter that you are, I am still grateful that God
allowed at least one of the children your father gave me to live."

With
sympathetic courtesy Bernard nodded, a gesture that the elder woman noted and
acknowledged with a distracted smile.

Alys
was also now gazing on the glover, but her look was not disinterested. Instead,
it had a particular warmth to it, the meaning of which did not much please
Jhone.

The
widow loudly cleared her throat.

"Well
and good, Mother, if that is what you believe," the daughter said, tearing
her eyes away from the young glover with evident regret. "A child does owe
obedience to her parent, but surely our obligation to God ranks higher? If you
will not allow me to marry as my heart wishes, please permit me to join this
Order of Fontevraud. Although I am sure Master Herbert is a most honorable man,
I regretfully find marriage with him somewhat less than agreeable. I would
rather leave the world and spend my life praying for your soul—and that of my
father." The girl folded her arms. A soldier could not have had a
straighter back.

"Surely
there is a third way..." The young man reached out as if pleading for at
least one of the women to listen.

Alys
waved at him to remain silent. "I would not be the first in the family to
ask this, Mother. You have told me that your parents were willing to let your
elder sister take holy vows instead of entering a marriage she did not
want." Certain that she had presented an unassailable argument, she smiled
with satisfaction.

Jhone's
eyes widened with horror. "Need I remind you, however, that my sister
never took those vows but instead wed Wulfstan, a man of whom they most
heartily disapproved? Had they been stricter, she would have vowed herself to a
successful merchant and led a comfortable life instead of what she has
suffered!" Her eyes glazed briefly, and she spoke the next words with a
sweet but pleading tone. "Is it so wrong to want you settled into a
prosperous marriage? May I not look forward to grandchildren? These wishes are
not sins."

"I
would agree, but only if I become Bernard's wife." Alys' face flushed as
she looked back at her beloved whose face quickly matched her rosy color.
"Why do you object to our marriage? We adore each other
so."

Jhone's
pale face turned a rough and angry red. "This is a matter for private
discussion!" she growled, staring at the glover as if he had just walked
in on this conversation unbidden.

Master
Bernard bowed with nervous grace. "I will take my leave most
willingly..."

"Nay,
you shall not!" Alys barked, then beamed at him with love. She turned to
her mother. "I can think of no reason why he and I should not marry. Since
he has asked most courteously for my hand, he has the right to hear from you in
plain speech why his suit is unacceptable and Master Herbert's so
persuasive."

"Later
might be best. I can return when..." Bernard edged toward the door.

Jhone's
back stiffened. Although her lips twisted into a chill smile, disdain burned
hot in her dark-rimmed eyes. "My disobedient daughter may have chosen to
forget that it was her father's last wish that she marry Master Herbert, but I
have not. Of course I must follow my dead husband's direction. Surely you can
understand my obligation as a proper wife in this matter, Master Bernard?"

The
glover nodded quickly, then glanced at Alys with silent apology.

She
turned her head away as if he had just denounced her.

"Were
my husband still alive, Master Glover, he might have explained that your youth
and failure to show great success in your own trade were strong arguments
against your suit. My dead husband's wool venture was profitable, and my
daughter's husband must not only assume this undertaking but build on it.
Neither you nor Master Herbert is knowledgeable about wool. That is true, but
my husband left a trusted man to help run the business until a sound tradesman
can take over the management of it and learn what is needed. This requires a
man who has proven he knows how to manage a profitable enterprise. You clearly
lack this experience. Master Herbert, on the other hand, has proven his skills
in his vintner trade."

"So
say you! Bernard is not poor. He has just begun in the business his father left
him, but you can see how prosperous he looks." Alys gestured at her plump
beloved as if arguing the benefits of buying a fat sheep. As her eyes focused
on the man himself, her expression softened with love. "Modest in dress,
but..." She blushed.

"This
boy makes
gloves
!”
Jhone shouted with evident exasperation.
"Master Herbert is a wine merchant with vineyards in Gascony. He has
gained respect amongst merchants beyond our shores and could improve on what
your father began with the contacts he has made." She waved at the young
man as if he were so insubstantial that her gesture would make him disappear.

"What
is wrong with gloves?" Alys protested.

"May
I explain..." Bernard began.

"Fa!"
Jhone spat, doggedly pursuing her argument with this daughter who remained so
illogically enamored of something other than a secure living. "A glover
and his family will starve the first time crops turn black from drought and no
one can buy such pretty trifles. Wine and wool are things we all must have. Not
only does Master Herbert have the more secure business and better connections,
he is of more mature years." She put her hands on her hips. "Must I
remind you that he provided well for the wants and fancies of a prior
wife?"

"We
can all drink beer and wear homespun cloth if bad times come." The girl's
voice dripped with contempt. "I would rather a man whose hands are as soft
as his gloves than one with horny, old paws. Marry him yourself, mother, if you
like him all that well!"

Jhone
leapt forward and slapped her daughter, then stared with horror at the red mark
her fingers had left on her only child's cheek.

Bernard
put his hand behind him against the wall and moved toward the door. Quickly he
looked over his shoulder. The door was shut. He closed his eyes.

Tears
streamed out of Alys' eyes, and she fell to her knees in front of her mother.
"I beg your forgiveness! Can we not make peace in this matter? I want to
be your most dutiful daughter, but I yearn just as much
to
become
Bernard's wife."

Jhone
clutched her hands tightly under her breasts, a gesture that might have
suggested grace and dignity if the knuckles on her fingers had not been quite
so white. "You must obey me, child."

Alys
shook her head as she rose to her feet.

The
mother now turned a beseeching gaze on the young man. "And you, Master
Bernard? Surely you understand my obligation in this matter. Will you not show
charity and support this poor widow by withdrawing your plea? I have no quarrel
with you other than this unwise suit."

His
eyes shifted away from hers.

"If
you hesitate to do this," she continued softly, "I beg that you ask
yourself if you would not make the same decision as I must for a much beloved
daughter."

"We
would not demand such a terrible sacrifice from any child of ours!" Alys
cried out before Bernard could reply.

Jhone
stamped her foot in outrage. "You shall marry Master Herbert!"

"Before
you drag me to his bed, I will enter Amesbury Priory as a novice!" Alys
pounded her fist on a nearby chair.

As
the two women glared at each other with equal obstinacy, the now forgotten
Bernard, maker of soft gloves, leaned against the hard wall and silently prayed
for peace.

Chapter
Five

Wulfstan
was an angry man. Had he been less so, he might have felt pain as he stomped
along the path to the river, jolting his aging joints as his feet pounded the
earth with the force of his just resentment.

"I
did see the ghost," he muttered. When he reported this earlier in the day,
Sister Beatrice should have listened with both courtesy and respect. Had he not
proven to her over the years that he was a reliable man? Instead, her frowning
silence had proclaimed her utter disbelief.

Wulfstan
snorted. How dare the nun so casually dismiss what he had seen? He was no
woman, prone to irrational fantasies and likely to faint if a shadow took on
some writhing shape. He had, most certainly he had, seen the ghost.

He
shivered. The evening was chill. Now he began to feel the pain in his knees and
shins as well. "Fa! This is the priory's fault," he growled, and spat
on the damp earth.

Maybe
that difficult wife of his would at least have a hot stew ready when he got
home. Last night, after the fright the ghost had given him, as it would any
mortal man, he had sought ease from her body; but his wife had pushed him off,
whining that her courses had come and she would have none of his urges for at
least six days.

Or
so she claimed. Wulfstan shook his head, his mouth imitating a peevish look.
"I will not be humiliated by bearing a red-haired child so the village can
mock us for sinful intercourse," he muttered in high-pitched imitation of
his reluctant spouse.

Grumbling
to himself, he remembered when she could not have enough of his
urges,
but
after the birth of their sixth, she had found far too many excuses to deny him
his rights as husband. Tonight he should demand his marriage debt. If he
recalled correctly, and he was sure he did, her courses had come quite
recently. She must have been lying last night. Women did that, or so his father
had told him.

He
shivered again but trudged on. From the sound of the Avon, he had reached the
part of the path that passed close to the river bank. As he looked up, he could
see a few specks of light from Amesbury Priory. Aye, he was getting closer to
home. There had better be a warm hearth waiting for him, Wulfstan thought
sullenly, or else he would administer a beating to someone for cert. He rubbed
a hand under his dripping nose.

With
sudden apprehension, he saw how near he was to the place he had seen the ghost.
Quietly, he cursed the stubborn pride that had sent him back along this path where
the spirit had appeared to him. Last night the phantom may have turned away
from him, disappearing into the mist and rushes without causing him harm, but
the memory of her black form made him uneasy. Perchance the first sighting had
been but a warning. The second time, might she not carry him off to Hell?

Wulfstan
quickened his step.

Without
a doubt, monks had warm enough hearths, he said to himself, attempting with
small success to turn his thoughts away from specters. Not much better than
women, they were, groveling on their knees and weeping over their sins to God
while others sweated on the land so they could eat. Yet that was not enough for
some! He knew about those who had slipped through the hole in the wall to warm
their little cocks in the dark chambers of whores. "No wonder Queen
Elfrida has returned from Purgatory," he muttered.