The Innocent (11 page)

"My daughter," Reverend Mother Eunice said, "when you came to us, I believed it God’s will that you remain with us forever. However, it is now plain to me that God’s will for you has changed, and you must obey it, Eleanore de Montfort. You will be a wife, not a nun. You will give obedience and respect to this good knight who is to be your husband. Perhaps one day you will send us one of your daughters to join our ranks, and that will be God’s will. But if you continue to argue with both the king and the bishop, you will shame us, for it will be said that we do not properly bring up the girls sent to us. Surely you would not shame us, child."

Elf sighed deeply, then she looked up at the king. "I am not happy in my heart, my lord, but I will obey you," she said reluctantly.

King Stephen patted the small white hand in his. "Sometimes God’s will is difficult to both obey and understand, Eleanore de Montfort. Nonetheless obey we must, my dear. Do not fear. This is a good man to whom I have given you." He turned his head briefly. "Come to my side, Ranulf de Glandeville," he called, and when the knight had joined them, the king put the girl’s little soft hand into the large hand of the knight. " In my capacity as guardian of this maiden, Ranulf de Glandeville, I give her to you as a wife with all her goods and chattels. Will you treat her with love and respect, and defend her lands in my name?"

The big hand closed about her hand. It was warm, and there was strength in it. "I will, my liege, as God is my witness," the deep familiar voice said quietly.

Elf’s head snapped up, and for the first time since all this had begun, she looked at the man who was to be her husband.
"You!"
she said. "You are the knight who passed through Ashlin before my brother died. You carried Richard’s will to both the bishop and the king."

"I am he, lady," Ranulf de Glandeville answered.

"They will be wed tomorrow by the bishop, and in my presence," the king said. "My lady abbess, will you see that the lady Eleanore is suitably dressed for her wedding?"

"I would gladly, my lord, but alas, I have no coin with which to purchase proper garments," the abbess replied, embarrassed.

"The bishop will supply you with all that is needed," the king said, and then a twinkle arose in his blue eyes. "Do not stint in your choices, lady. The bishop, I know, would want to be generous in this particular matter. He must perceive that it will please me to see the lady Eleanore of Ashlin prettily garbed."

"Indeed, yes," the bishop quickly agreed. "Choose what you will for the bride, Reverend Mother."

"My lord," Elf said to the king. "There are two small matters to address before you dismiss us. May I speak?" She gently disengaged her hand from that of Ranulf de Glandeville.

"You may," the king said, noting how deftly she had slipped her fingers from the knights. Lady Eleanore, he suspected, was going to be just fine despite her disappointment and the suddenness of everything that had happened to her this day.

"The dowry my brother gave to St. Frideswide's, I should like it to remain with them. They have nurtured me since I was five years of age. Then, too, Sister Winifred will now have no one to assist her, and she is not as young as she once was. It will take time to train another girl for her, and that girl must have an aptitude for herbs and caring for the sick. It cannot be just anyone. Now that I am Ashlin’s heiress, my lands should be more than enough for Sir Ranulf."

The king looked to the knight. "I agree," he said, "but the final decision is yours, Ranulf. What say you?"

"I agree also, my lord. It is only fair that my lady’s dower portion remain with the convent. She was, after all, within days of taking her final vows. I would also add to that two barrels of beer each October in thanks for my good fortune, and my bride."

"Well-spoken!" the king approved. "Now, my lady, what is that other matter on which you would speak to me?"

"It is my serf, Arthur," Elf began.

"He attacked me, causing grievous bodily injury," Saer de Bude spoke up. He had been forced to stand next to his uncle, who did not speak up for him when the king gave Eleanore to his own man. "A serf who attacks a noble is automatically sentenced to death. The low fellow has been in hiding at St. Frideswide’s ever since he fled from Ashlin. I demand justice!"

"Do you not know how to speak the truth at all?" Elf demanded fiercely. "Arthur pulled you off me when you sought to violate my innocence. You fell back, and hit your head against my worktable."

"He hit me!"
Saer de Bude shouted, his reserve gone.

"I
saw no blow,"
Elf boldly lied, glaring directly at the man. She turned to the king. "Arthur," she explained, "is a year older than I am, my lord. We were playmates as children, for my brother was ten years my senior. He had been working in the garden that day. In fact, he had earlier helped me to light the hearth so I might make my elixirs. If he had not been nearby in those gardens and heard my cries for aid, I should have been ruined. His sole concern was for me. He rushed me from my little workshop to the house, where my steward, Cedric, and my old nursemaid, Ida, advised me to return to St. Frideswide’s immediately. The steward gave Arthur leave to accompany me. Only that Cedric sent word that
that
man was crying for poor Arthur’s blood, he would have returned to Ashlin, and certain death. Instead he asked sanctuary of the abbess, who graciously gave it. Is that not so, Reverend Mother? Arthur asked you for sanctuary?"

Reverend Mother Eunice hesitated but a second. "Yes," she said, "Arthur of Ashlin did indeed ask me for sanctuary, which I granted." She would not have believed Eleanore de Montfort, so meek and mild a girl, could lie with such facility. Still, she had not asked for the abbess’s confirmation of her tale, only that the abbess had been asked for and had given sanctuary. That the rest would be assumed was not her fault.

And indeed it was assumed. "The serf, Arthur of Ashlin, is hereby granted my pardon for any wrongdoing that may or may not have occurred," the king said with finality. "It will be written up for you to carry with you tomorrow." Then King Stephen swung his gaze to Saer de Bude. "You are a good knight, Saer de Bude, but you need more polishing, it is obvious. I am sending you to my brother’s court in Blois. You will remain in the count’s service until you are told otherwise. My brother’s court is an elegant and refined one, and I urge you to learn all you can from being there. You will leave tonight, and you will carry several messages for me to my brother. May good fortune go with you."

Saer de Bude bowed to the king. There was no use in arguing unless he was seeking to have his life shortened considerably. While he loved Isleen, there was no sense in getting himself killed over her. There were plenty of other women in the world upon whom he might dote. He bowed low. "I thank you for your kindness, my lord king." Then he stepped back into the crowd in the hall, seeking some male friends with whom he might pass the time until he was summoned to leave. He did not bother to bid farewell to his uncle, who had not been particularly helpful to him this day. If the king had imprisoned him for his attempted assault he was quite certain that his uncle would have remained silent.

"Now, Baron Hugh," the king spoke again, "there is the matter of your daughter. It has come to my ears that Richard de Montfort sickened suspiciously and died. While nothing can be proven against your daughter, there are suspicions, particularly given her carnal liaison with her cousin. Do not deny it, my lord, for there were many who saw them, though they either did not know, or care; yet it is suspected that your late son-in-law, Richard de Montfort, was poisoned by person or persons unknown. But as your daughter and her cousin were the only ones close to Richard de Montfort-as no servant had a grievance against the lord-it is possible that it is your daughter who poisoned her husband. This being the case, I forbid you to make any match for Isleen de Warenne. Incarcerate her in a cloister, and keep her there for the rest of her days, Baron Hugh. She is a dangerous woman."

"My lord," Hugh de Warenne protested, "you have no proof that my daughter would do such a terrible thing. What reason would she have? She loved Richard."

"Your daughter was barren after nine years of marriage. Richard de Montfort had at least three bastards born to female serfs belonging to him. Your daughter may have known and become angry and embittered. She loved her cousin. She might think to kill her husband, have her cousin debauch his sister, the rightful heiress, so the girl would have to marry her rapist. Then, when the time was right, Lady Isleen might kill off the innocent so she could marry her cousin, and together they would share Ashlin."

Hugh de Warenne blustered, "My lord, that is a preposterous tale! You have not one shred of proof against my daughter and Saer de Bude."

"I have enough proof, my lord," the king said icily. "Cedric of Ashlin, come forward and give your testimony."

Ashlin’s steward came slowly forward, awed to be in such grand company, but determined to make certain his mistress was safe from Saer de Bude and his family. "I am here, my lord king," the old man said, and he bowed low to King Stephen.

"Shall the steward give his testimony, Hugh de Warenne, or will you cease your carping and do as I have commanded?" the king asked.

"I will obey, my lord," Baron Hugh said, silently damning his daughter to hell. He was going to find the most remote and harshest cloister and see Isleen put away forever! His family had come close to ruin today, and all because of the lewd, murderous bitch.

"Go, then," the king said, "and carry out my will."

Hugh de Warenne bowed, and backed from the king’s sight.

"Now," the king said to the steward, "will you pledge for yourself, and all of Ashlin’s folk, that you will be loyal to Lord Ranulf, Cedric of Ashlin? Will you accept him as your new master?"

"Right gladly, my lord, as long as he takes care of our lady Eleanore," the steward replied boldly.

"I will take great care of her," Ranulf de Glandeville said.

"Then, we will serve you loyally and with devotion, my lord," Cedric replied, and he bowed to his master.

"It is settled, then," the king said. "The marriage will take place tomorrow immediately preceding the morning Mass."

When they had departed the bishop’s hall, Elf turned to her steward. "How did you come to be here, Cedric? I did not give you permission to leave Ashlin."

"I had to come, my lady, and I hope you will forgive me, but your old Ida would not rest easy unless we could all be certain that Saer de Bude did not slander you further or force you into a marriage you didn't desire. We could not serve such a man, although for love of you we would have. Forgive me, my lady."

"But how did you gain the king’s ear?" Elf asked him.

"I simply told the bishop’s porter that I had important information for the king regarding a case to be heard today. The porter passed me on to the bishop’s seneschal, who gained the king’s ear for me. I told him everything we had seen and heard in Lord Richard’s last months.
She
never noticed us as she pursued her evil desires. There was nothing we could do to stop her, for we are serfs. We would have been punished for uttering our suspicions. Ida thinks it was the sugared almonds she was always feeding the lord. But we heard enough to be certain that she killed our dear lord. I thought the king should know before making any decision in this matter. I am glad, my lady, that you will be coming home to Ashlin, where you truly belong," Cedric finished.

"You will stay with me tonight, steward," Ranulf de Glandeville said to Cedric. "Your mistress must go now to prepare for our wedding." He turned to Elf, taking her hand again. "Lady, you need have no fear of me. You have been gently bred. I will respect your wishes in all matters, for I would that ours be a happy union."

Elf looked shyly up at him. "You are so big."

"And you so petite, lady," he responded with a small smile.

"I fear I shall not be a good wife."

"You were a most gracious hostess that night I stayed at Ashlin, my lady Eleanore. While your sister-in-law looked to her lover, you saw to my meal and to my sleeping accommodation. I think you will be a very good wife."

"But I do not know how to do so many things. It is a simple task to say, bring the lord a plate of food. But what happens when I must decide what food the cook is to prepare?"

"Cedric will help you, will you not, steward?" Ranulf de Glandeville said, his gaze going to the older man.

"Indeed, my lord, and cook will help the lady, and we all will aid her, for we are so glad she is coming home again," Cedric said.

"So, my lady Eleanore," her husband-to-be said, kissing her small hand and causing her to blush before he released it, "you will in due time become an excellent chatelaine."

They had reached the door of the bishop’s guest house.

"We will leave you now, my lord," the abbess said. "If Eleanore is to be a bride tomorrow, we must go into the market and the shops to see what garments we can obtain for her."

"The lady Eleanore, Reverend Mother, will be beautiful in whatever she is clothed, I am certain." Then he flushed. " I am no courtier with words, I fear." He bowed to the four women, and with Cedric in tow hurried off.

"For a man who is no courtier, he does quite well with words," the abbess said with a small smile. "I like him."

THE BRIDE

ENGLAND 1152-1153

“
You honor my shop, Reverend Mother," the clothier said ashe ushered the nuns onto his premises. "How may I be of service to you? I have some fine black wool just in from France."

"Do you have a gown that might serve for a bride, Master Albert?" the abbess asked. "My young novice recently became an heiress on her brother’s death. The king and the bishop prefer that she wed one of King Stephen’s knights, rather than take her final vows. The king and the bishop desire the wedding be celebrated on the morrow. As you will understand, the lady has nothing but her habit. She cannot be wed in that now, can she?" Mother Eunice smiled hopefully.

"Oh, dear," the clothier replied, his brow furrowing in distress. Then he brightened. "My daughter is being wed in two months' time. Let me call my wife and see if we might not take something from among Cecily’s wardrobe that might suit your young lady." He went to the stairs of his shop, and called up, "Martha, come down, for I need your help."

The lady in question descended and, when told of the problem, was immediately sympathetic. "Of course we can help," she noted. "No lady should be wed looking like a little gray dove."

"I have funds from the bishop to pay you," the abbess said.

Mistress Martha smiled. Coin in hand, and not a year trying to obtain the monies owed. Excellent! Her mood brightened even more. "Come here, child, and let me look at you," she said to Eleanore. "Well, you're shorter than our Cecily, but there is little to raising a hem. The top of you looks about the same size." She turned to the abbess. "We can make good use of both her tunica and her skirts by matching them to the other, more colorful pieces. A nice yellow tunica for the gray skirts," she considered thoughtfully. "It will complement her pretty hair. Now, what to put with that gray tunica." She thought carefully. "Ah, yes, rose-and-light-blue-striped skirts. That will give the lass two changes of clothing. Now, for her marriage day gown. A particolored bliaut in forest green, the front embroidered in gold, to be worn with green skirts. It will be perfect on you, my dear, but my daughter hated it on sight, so it is certainly no loss to her. I do not understand, for I think it beautiful, but I believe she found it too fine a gown for a clothier’s daughter who is marrying a member of the carpenter’s guild-although I believe Peter will one day be a Master in his guild," the clothier’s wife said proudly. "Still, there is no arguing with a lass with bridal nerves. Come upstairs with me now, child, and we will see what needs to be done to make your clothing fit."

"Go with Eleanore, Sister Columba," the abbess said. "Sister Winifred and I will remain down here."

The two girls followed the clothier’s wife up the staircase, and into a large, bright room. Going to a wooden chest, Mistress Martha opened it and lifted out a yellow tunica. Instructing Elf to remove her own gray garment, she slipped the top over the girl’s head. Next she fastened a pretty girdle of deeper yellow with copper threads about Elf’s hips. She stepped back, then nodded.

"Our Cecily is taller and a bit broader, but you are both slender."

Elf let her fingers touch the soft silk fabric. Since her arrival at the convent, she had never worn anything but cotton or wool. "How do I look?" she asked Sister Columba shyly.

"Perfect. Oh, Elf, I wish you could see yourself. That yellow tunica makes your lovely hair even lovelier."

"The tunica is just right but for a nip or two in the shoulders. Cecily’s height is in her legs." The clothier’s wife smiled at Elf. "The young sister is right. The yellow is a good color for you. Now, child, off with both your tunica and skirts. We shall try the rose-and-blue-striped skirt, and see how much must be taken up."

When Elf had done as she was bid, Mistress Martha knelt, first pinning up the skirts, then pinning the waist to make it smaller. Then she suggested Elf put her gray tunica back on, and when she had, Mistress Martha fastened another girdle, rose silk with silver threads, about the garment. Elf looked to her friend, and Sister Columba nodded with a smile. Now it was time to try on the wedding finery. Mistress Martha lifted the garment from the chest.

"You will wear a camisa with an embroidered neckline, my dear, beneath this," she explained. "I just want you to try it for size." She held the bliaut out for Elf to put her arms into. The bliaut had a corsetlike bodice with long sleeves that were both wide and embroidered. The waistline was low, and attached to a pleated skirt. The low and slit ornamented neckline would allow the decorated neckline of the camisa to show. Mistress Martha laced the garment tightly up the back, clucking as she realized the bliaut would have to be taken in. The tunica tops had been loose, and belted with their own girdles, but the fitted bliaut was too wide for the petite Elf. "It can be done," she muttered beneath her breath. "A seam tightened here, another there. What do you think of the color on your friend, good sister?"

"You are beautiful, Elf," the young nun said. "The dark green and gold of the fabric sets off your delicate coloring, and your hair, perfectly. I wish Isa could see you now. She would be so jealous!"

Elf could not help but giggle. "Shame on you," she scolded her friend. She fingered the beautiful fabric. "I do like the color, but must it be laced so tightly? I find the outline of my body very immodest."

"All the fine ladies are wearing the bliaut, my lady," Mistress Martha said. "Surely if you are being wed by the bishop before King Stephen, you will want to look your best. It will do honor to your new husband as well that you are so fashionable."

"Isa’s mother sent her one to wear home," Elf’s best friend said. "It certainly wasn't as fine as this one."

Mistress Martha knelt, and pinned the hem of the pleated skirt as well as the waist. "You will be a lovely bride, my dear," she said when she had finished. "Now, get dressed in your own clothing again. We shall return downstairs to the abbess. I shall be up all night sewing to get your garments ready."

"We can help," Elf said.

Her companion nodded. "I am certain the Reverend Mother will agree. We are skilled needlewomen. Your kindness should not be taken advantage of, Mistress Martha."

They returned to the shop, where the clothier’s wife explained everything to the abbess, concluding, "And the yellow tunica can also be matched with the green skirt, giving the lady a fourth costume."

"Excellent," the abbess said. "The lady Eleanore will have a suitable wardrobe without too great an extravagance." She turned to Elf. "I have purchased a few bolts of fabric for you, my daughter. You will want to make yourself several more gowns when you return home to Ashlin. And I have taken the liberty of obtaining some veils for your head, as well as ribbons you can use as fillets, since you will no longer wear your wimple."

"I shall need a small bolt of linen, Reverend Mother, for undergarments," Elf said softly. "I have but one camisa as you will recall. I shall want to make others when I return to Ashlin."

The abbess nodded in agreement. Then, turning to the clothier, she said, "What will we owe you for all of this, bearing in mind that the lady and Sister Columba will remain with your wife to do the alterations?"

Master Albert named a sum as his wife nodded in agreement.

The abbess smiled. "You are too generous, I think," she told him, counting out the required coin, and adding two additional silver marks. "One for you, Master Albert, and one for your good-wife for her great kindness toward the lady Eleanore."

The clothier bowed, nodding his thanks, and the abbess in the company of Sister Winifred departed the shop leaving the two younger women behind. Mistress Martha pocketed her silver mark with a pleased smile, then signaled to Eleanore and her companion to follow along back up the stairs. The three settled themselves to begin the task of making the alterations. Elf was silent as she sewed, carefully keeping her eye on her work, but Sister Columba chattered away with the clothier’s wife as they hemmed and stitched. Soon Mistress Martha knew a very great deal about the two young women. She was quite fascinated that a novice, within days of her final vows, had been plucked from the convent to marry a knight.

"I do not wish to seem rude," the older woman whispered to the young nun, in whom she recognized a friendly soul, "but does the young lady know about men’s
needs?
I hope I do not shock you."

"You are a mother," Sister Columba said. "Mayhap you should attempt to enlighten Elf."

She looked up at the sound of her name. "What is it?"

"Mistress Martha, realizing your ignorance in matters of the flesh, was asking me if she should speak to you as your own mother would were she alive to do so. I think it a good idea, Elf. You would never come with us when we went to the barn, and that was all right then, but tomorrow you are to be married, and as the goodwife says, men expect certain favors of their wives. You must know what will be required of you."

Elf blushed deeply. "I know… but I am frankly fearful."

"The natural reaction of a proper virgin," Mistress Martha said, "but, my child, there is really nothing to fear. While a woman’s body is a pretty thing, a man’s while not ugly, is quite ordinary. While a woman has titties to be stroked and a bottom to be fondled, men have naught but one item of interest. Their manhood. They put a great deal of store by it, however. Boys compare them for size. Men brag on them, and the amorous conquests they have made with them. It’s all quite silly considering a manhood is naught but a length of limp flesh most of the time." And then the good woman proceeded to explain as if Elf were her own dear daughter, Cecily. At length Mistress Martha finished, asking, "Now, is there anything you would ask me?"

Elf shook her head.

"You are free, you realize, to ask your husband questions. Oh, yes! Men like to be petted, too. Do not feel shy of touching your husband. And do you know, although of course you must, about preventing conception?"

"But that is wrong."

"Not always," Mistress Martha replied, "leastwise, not to my mind. Not if a woman has had too many babes in a row and her body needs to rest, or if a woman imperils her life by being with child. These dangers must be addressed. Oh, I know the church says that under such circumstances a man and his wife must cease marital relations, but more often than not they do not want to do so. Then, too, if they do, the man’s natural lusts will lead him to other women, and no wife wants that. The church, God bless it, does not comprehend these things, and asks too much of us in these cases. Better a wife take a spoonful of wild carrot seeds daily to prevent conception. That way she may keep her husband content in her bed and free from the greater sin of adultery," the goodwife concluded happily.

"I see," Elf said. Although it went against all she had been taught, there was a practical logic to it. "Thank you, Mistress Martha."

It was well past dark when the trio finished the alterations for Elf’s clothing. Two men-at-arms from the bishop’s staff had arrived to escort the young women back to the guest house. Master Albert accompanied them, drawing a small cart. It held a small wooden chest that had arrived during the afternoon from the furniture maker, whose shop was located just a few doors down from the clothier. Mistress Martha herself had packed Elf’s clothes, and she would not let them leave until she had fed them a hot supper of rabbit stew, fresh bread, and newly pressed cider.

They left the clothier’s shop, two of Master Albert’s own apprentices going ahead with torches, the clothier himself following his lads with the cart, the women behind him followed by the two men-at-arms. They had almost reached the bishop’s guest house when a door opened onto the narrow street, light breaking out to brighten the cobbles as some half-a-dozen men spilled from the building. It was obvious they were well filled with wine.

"Aha!" one of the men said, stepping forward to block Elf’s path. " 'Tis the lady Eleanore de Montfort, who might have been my bride, but instead is to marry an old man tomorrow." Saer de Bude’s face, now dissolute with too much wine and other debauchery, leered down into hers. His breath was foul with sour drink.

"Let me pass!" Elf snapped. It was this man, she decided, who was responsible for all that had happened. Had there been no dispute over Ashlin, the king would never have known of her, and her life would have gone on as she had planned. Angry, she stamped her shoe down upon his booted foot as hard as she could.

With a surprised yelp he fell backward. "Bitch!" he snarled as Elf pushed past him, and the bishop’s men-at-arms now stepped quickly into his path to prevent any further encounter between the two.

The porter at the guest house gate greeted them as they arrived, letting Master Albert carry Elf’s new chest into the building, where a servant accepted it. Both Elf and Sister Columba thanked the clothier for his kindness before he left. They quickly found their pallets in the dormitory and lay down. Elf was so exhausted by the day’s events that she never even heard the nuns arise before midnight to go to the adjoining church to say Matins and Lauds. They did, however, awaken her for Prime, and afterward a bath was brought for the bride while she broke her fast with hot oat stirabout, and bread with honey.

Then it was time for Elf to be dressed for her wedding. As there were no other visitors to the guest house now, they had privacy in which to attire the bride. The abbess admired the beautiful deep green and gold silk brocade bliaut. First Elf was given a clean camisa to put on, and over it a somewhat more elegant camisa, called a sherte, with a neckline embroidered in a band of gold, and long sleeves that had been dyed a green to match the rest of the costume. The abbess laced the bliaut tightly while Sister Winifred attached wide, pleated green sleeves to the brocade sleeves that extended to the elbow. Sister Columba fastened the long, pleated green skirt to the bliaut, then fixed a green and gold brocade girdle with a polished brass clasp about Elf’s hips. The bride had previously put on her stockings, and gartered them at the knee; and then put on her leather shoes, which Sister Columba had carefully cleaned.