The Innocent (5 page)

"This is my brother’s house," Elf said modestly.

"You have, I would imagine, returned home from your convent to help," Ranulf de Glandeville observed. "Have you been able to aid your brother, lady? Is there anything I can do to aid you?"

"Dickon will die," Elf said, voicing for the first time what she had all along known in her heart. This knight had kind eyes, and for a brief moment she didn't feel quite so alone. "I am the assistant to our herbalist and infirmarian. It is said I am skilled in these arts, but just when I think I am making progress, my brother has a relapse. It has happened thrice now in the few weeks I have been back at Ashlin. If I cannot overcome the mystery of whatever it is that plagues him, I cannot make him well, sir. It is but a matter of time, and he will indeed surely die." There were tears in her gray-blue eyes as she spoke.

"You cannot determine what ails him?" the knight probed gently.

"It is a complaint of the belly first and foremost," Elf told her companion. "Pains, sometimes so severe his body folds itself in half. A continuous flux in the bowels. He has lost most of his hair, and a good many of his teeth. His skin is sallow, and tinged with gray. He is but ten years my senior, but he appears an ancient man now. All I can do," she concluded, "is keep him comfortable, sir. I feel so terribly helpless that I cannot make him well again."

"Was he always of a weakened disposition?" Ranulf de Glandeville asked Elf. Sometimes this was unfortunately so.

"Oh, no!" Elf replied. "Until about a year ago, according to old Ida, who was our nursemaid, Dickon was in the best of health." Then the young girl blushed. "I have almost forgotten, sir. My brother wanted me to ask you if you will come and speak with him before you retire. I have had a comfortable place made up for you in the bed space next to the fire. You will be quite snug there."

He arose from the high board, giving her a small bow. "I will see to your brother immediately," he said. "Again, I thank you for your hospitality, my lady Eleanore."

"God grant you good rest, sir," she answered him.

"I did not know you were so skilled in the arts of flirting, my pretty," Saer de Bude said suggestively. "Did the good nuns teach you that amorous art, Elf? You do not flirt with me, and I am quite overcome by your loveliness." He reached out to take her hand in his, but Elf snatched it away before he might do so.

"Why do you mistake simple courtesy for something else?" she asked him sharply. Then more boldly, "And why do you remain here at Ashlin, sir? You are not really needed by anyone. Dickon will die soon. It is not fitting that you be here in this house with two women and no older relation. Surely you do not wish to damage your cousin’s reputation?" Suddenly, Elf was more angry than she had ever been.

"You do not fear for your own reputation?" he mocked her.

"Why? All who know me know I am chaste, for I am a bride of Christ. My reputation is safe, but what of Isleen's, sir?" Elf countered, then turned and came down from the high board. After seeking out Ida, Elf crawled with the old woman into a bed space at the end of the hall. The space Elf had allocated to Ranulf de Glandeville had actually been hers, but as it was the best one in the hall, she gave it to their guest. Ida and Elf preferred being near Richard de Montfort, who spent all his time in the hall now. Isleen slept in the small bedchamber off the solar, which was located behind the hall, while Saer de Bude found his rest in a little attic room.

Richard de Montfort greeted the king’s messenger, and invited him to sit by his side. "I have a commission for you, if you can take it, sir," he said softly. "My wife and I are childless. Under the laws of inheritance Ashlin must go to my sister, Eleanore. My wife’s dowry, of course, will be returned to her family, the de Warennes, as will Isleen. She is still young and beautiful. Another husband can be found for her, I am certain. In the morning I will ask my sister to write my will, for she has been most excellently educated at St. Frideswide's. She will make three copies. One I shall keep. The second I would have you deliver to the Bishop of Worcester; the third take to the king. I do this so that there is no mistake in my intentions for my wife and my sister. A serf has already been delegated to ride to the bishop when I die, and inform him of my demise. The bishop is to notify the king. I entrust Eleanore’s safety to King Stephen. Will you do this for me, sir?" the lord of Ashlin finished weakly.

"I will, and gladly," Ranulf de Glandeville said quietly.

Richard nodded, openly relieved. "Thank you, sir. I do not like my wife’s cousin. He presumes too much, but I have tolerated him for Isleen’s sake because she seems so fond of him. Of late, however, I have seen this Saer de Bude looking at my young sister when he thought no one was noticing him. His gaze is too predatory to suit me. Elf is an innocent. She would not know how to defend herself against such a man."

Elf,
Ranulf thought. It was a charming nickname. "How long has your sister been at St. Frideswide's? I know it, for a young relative of mine is there. The girl’s name is Isabeaux St. Simon, but she is to marry soon, this autumn, I think."

"Isa is one of Elf’s two best friends," Richard answered. "You must tell my sister that you know her. I took Elf to the convent shortly after her fifth birthday. Our father had died, and then our mother. I had contracted a marriage with the de Warennes, and they did not think it fair that Isleen should have to raise my sister. It was they who suggested St. Frideswide's. Knowing my sister’s dower was a small one, they also suggested that she become a nun when she was old enough. It was a good decision. Elf has been safe in these troubled times. Her gentle disposition is perfect for the life she will lead. I should fear for her otherwise after I am gone." He coughed, his face paler than usual.

"Perhaps now she is to inherit your manor," Ranulf de Glandeville said, "she might decide she prefers to marry."

Richard shook his head. "I think it more likely she will give Ashlin to her order. They will do with it what is best for them. Marriage is not for Elf. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall sleep. I am very weary despite the fact all I do is lie here day after day."

Ranulf de Glandeville sought his own bed space, nodding to the young serf who had come to sit by his master. To the knight’s surprise there was a small stool by the bed space with a basin of warm water. He washed the grease of his supper from his hands and face gratefully, drying them on the small linen cloth with the ewer. What a shame his young hostess had chosen the church over marriage. She would make a fine chatelaine of any man’s manor. Pulling off his dalmatica, he laid it aside, and unlaced his corselet, a tight-fitting leather jupe, and set it out of the way, too. Then he removed his boots. He would sleep in the rest of his clothing. He needed to pee, and so walking across the hall, he let himself outside to complete the task, then returned inside, carefully barring the door again.

A serf awoke him shortly after dawn. There was hot oat stirabout, fresh bread, cheese, butter, and brown ale to break his fast. Having eaten his fill, he went to Richard de Montfort’s side, where Elf was even now copying out a second parchment of her brother’s will. She looked up at his approach, the expression on her young face serious. He sat silently by the lord’s side. Richard’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Ranulf de Glandeville crossed himself, and folded his big hands in prayer. They were hands more used to battle than supplication, and his hazel eyes could not help but stray to the earnestly bent head of the girl as she wrote.

"There, only one more to copy," she finally said. "It is not a long document, sir. I will try not to keep you. You must be eager to be on your way as your business is for the king." Then she bent her head again over her task.

He picked up one of the parchments. It had been dictated in a straightforward manner. Richard de Montfort, right lord of the manor of Ashlin, being childless after nine years of marriage to his lawful wife, Isleen de Warenne, leaves said manor with its lands, its serfs, its buildings, its livestock, and all of his possessions to his only heir, his sister, Eleanore de Montfort. The will went on to note that Isleen’s dowry portion should be returned immediately to her family. Here Ranulf de Glandeville raised an interested eyebrow. The de Warennes had been most generous, perhaps a bit overgenerous. They had obviously been quite eager to rid themselves of this daughter. Curious, he could not help but wonder why. The lady was quite beautiful and from an excellent family. The will went on to commend Richard de Montfort’s wishes to His Majesty, King Stephen, and to his lordship, the Bishop of Worcester. The bishop was awarded six ewe lambs and a young ram for his trouble.

"I have finished, sir," Elf’s voice broke into his thoughts.

The knight looked up to see Richard de Montfort signing each document, and sealing them with his seal both by his signature and on the rolled-up document’s exterior. The lord of Ashlin had to be braced by a servant so he might sit up enough to scrawl his signature and press his seal into the hot wax. Before he did so, however, Ranulf de Glandeville signed each will in witness.

"What is it you are doing?" Isleen had entered the hall, Saer at her side.

They were a beautiful couple, Ranulf thought, fascinated by their appearance.

"I have dictated my will to Elf," Richard said softly. "Ranulf de Glandeville has witnessed it, Elf has made copies, and now our good guest will deliver a copy each to the bishop in Worcester, and the king, so my wishes will be carried out with expedience. Elf will inherit Ashlin as she is my heir."

"Of course she will," Isleen said, and her voice was almost angry. "I know that, but what a little nun will do with a manor is beyond me. Will she use these lands to found a new convent, perhaps?"

"I am not allowed to own any personal possessions once I have taken my final vows," Elf said, speaking up. "When I return to St. Frideswide's, I shall sign my rights in Ashlin over to my order. Ashlin will belong to the sisters of St. Mary, Isleen."

For the tiniest moment, so brief that Ranulf de Glandeville wasn't even certain, an ugly look touched Isleen’s face, but then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. Why, she hates her sister-in-law, the knight thought. Well, the woman was human. Her childless condition was costing her a comfortable living, and her very home. She would get over it, but who could blame her in the meantime? He took the two rolled documents Elf handed him and arose.

"I will see these are delivered properly," he told Richard de Montfort, "and I will pray for your soul, my lord." He bowed.

"Thank you" was Richard’s simple reply.

"Your cloak, my lord," Ida said, handing the garment to him.

"Why, it looks like new!" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Nothing a good brushing couldn't accomplish, my lord," the old lady said sharply. "That is why God made women. Men need taking care of, it is obvious. Godspeed, lord."

He put the garment about his broad shoulders, and then made his farewells, saving his last good-bye for Elf. "I shall not forget your hospitality, lady," he told her softly. "Your kindness lifted the weariness from my shoulders last night, and I am grateful. I have a long way to go yet. Thank you."

"May you go with God, then, Sir Ranulf," Elf told him. "I shall remember you in my prayers."

He bowed to her, then turned and left the hall.

“
Will you remember me in your prayers also, lady?" Saer de VV Bude queried when the king’s messenger was out of hearing.

"I remember all here in my prayers, sir," Elf said, and then added more tartly, "I expect you need praying for more than that good knight, sir." She turned to Ida. "We will need fresh linen for my brother’s cot. I will go and fetch it if you and Isleen will bathe Dickon, please." Without waiting for an answer she hurried off to the linen cupboard, where she drew forth clean bedding for her brother’s comfort. The cupboard smelled of lavender and damask roses. Hearing a footstep behind her, Elf turned about and found herself face-to-face with Saer de Bude.

"You are even more beautiful than my cousin, Isleen," he began.

"Your words and your obvious thoughts are inappropriate, sir," Elf said. She was irritated by this man’s proximity, but her voice did not quaver, nor did she shrink from him.

The deep blue eyes fixed her fiercely. "I find you ultimately desirable, Eleanore de Montfort, and as you have not taken your final vows as a nun yet, I feel I may tell you so." He moved closer, pressing her back into the cupboard.

"In my mind and in my heart, sir, I am a nun. I do not welcome your attentions. I find them distasteful, extremely offensive. Now, step aside so I may pass! These linens are needed in the hall."

He laughed, and she saw his teeth were slightly yellowed. It spoiled the illusion of his overall handsomeness. Reaching out, he caught a tendril of her pale red-gold hair between his fingers, rubbed it, and then brought it to his lips to kiss. "Your hair is soft."

Elf was instantly repelled. Now she understood why a nun cut off her hair when she took her final vows. A woman’s hair was a terrible and sensuous provocation even when she didn't want it to be.
"Let me pass!"

His answer was to run a slender finger over her lips. "You have the most kissable mouth," he murmured seductively.

Elf was nauseated. Unable to help herself, she disgorged the contents of her morning meal on him. The vomit spilled down his sky blue tunic. Horrified, he stepped back with an oath. It was then Elf took the opportunity to shove past him, clutching the linens, which had somehow managed to remain free of her spew. She was dizzy, but she didn't stop in her flight, handing off the fragrant linens to a young servant woman, saying, "Take these to the hall. I must have some air." Then she ran from the house into the sunny summer morning.

She ran through the gates, and kept running until she found herself in a meadow filled with ewe sheep and their lambs. Sitting down beneath a large oak tree, she clutched her knees to her chest and wept. Dickon was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it. All of her skills were useless, and worse, she wished Dickon had never sent for her. She wanted to be back at St. Frideswide's. It was almost the end of June. Midsummer’s Eve was upon them. Matti would probably take her vows alone while she was stuck here at Ashlin with a dying brother, his wife, and Saer de Bude. Dickon had visited her only that one time in all the years since he had placed her in the convent. Why now this need to have her by his side? He could have died, and she could have inherited Ashlin without all of this fuss. Her presence had made absolutely no difference at all.

Or did her brother, perhaps, feel guilty for sending her away to please his bride-to-be? He needn't have, Elf thought. After the first month she had grown used to her convent, and enjoyed the company of the other little girls. Or maybe Dickon had realized all along that he was dying, and felt a deep need to have his sister with him. There seemed little love between him and Isleen now. Had he given in to her every whim in the past to try to make her love him? If only Isleen had borne Dickon children… but she had not.

Elf started, terrified, as a body plunked itself down next to her. Then her eyes met Arthur's, and she sagged, visibly relieved. "It’s you, praise God!" she said, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"I saw you tear out of the hall like the devil himself was after you," Arthur said.

"He was," Elf answered her old playmate, "but he calls himself Saer de Bude. He followed me to the linen cupboard and tried to kiss me," Elf told Arthur. "He has spoken to me several times in a most unsuitable manner. It is almost as if he were trying to woo me."

"Maybe he is," Arthur suggested quietly. "I wouldn't put it past him, Elf." Then he flushed, realizing he had used her nickname as he had always done when they were children.

Elf put a hand on his arm. "It’s still Elf to you, Arthur," she told him. "Why would that awful man attempt to woo me? I am a nun. I have voiced no indication that I have changed my mind about taking my final vows. Indeed, I cannot wait to return to St. Frideswide's!"

"But shortly you will be an heiress with a fine, small manor in your possession. Saer de Bude is a younger son. He has nothing. I believe if the lord’s wife were to inherit Ashlin instead of you, Elf, he would wed her, but the lady Isleen is not the heiress. You are. What will you do with Ashlin, and what will become of us?"

"The manor will belong to my order," Elf said. "I do not know what the Reverend Mother will decide. Perhaps she will rent the manor to some knight seeking a place of his own. Perhaps she will sell it off, but it doesn't matter. You and the others belong to Ashlin. You will be secure, Arthur."

"But without our family," he said. "The de Montforts have been part of Ashlin forever."

"Not really," Elf told him. "Ashlin was a Saxon manor in the Conqueror’s time. Its daughter wed a de Montfort, and Ashlin was her dowry. My ancestress, Rowena, did what was expedient for Ashlin, and for herself. The story goes that her brothers were killed at Hastings, and her old father wounded seriously, but his bravery had attracted King William. He ordered one of his knights, the first Richard de Montfort, to bring Sir Edmund home to Ashlin. And when he did and met the lady Rowena, it was love at first sight. She had hair my color. It is said that at least one child in each generation since has had hair this color," Elf concluded, then she giggled, for two lambs, curious, had come over to investigate beneath the tree, and were nibbling on her soft shoes. Reaching out, she stroked them. "They are so pretty," she said. Then she sighed. "I suppose I have to go back now."

"What of the lady’s cousin, Elf?" Arthur asked her.

"I vomited on him when he attempted to kiss me," she said. "I hope he will now keep his distance for fear of a recurrence."

Arthur laughed heartily. "I know I should certainly steer clear of a girl who threw up on me." He chortled, then stood and, giving her a hand, pulled her up. "Elf, I know I am only a serf," Arthur told her, "but if that man approaches you again, I want you to tell me."

"Arthur, a serf who strikes out at a nobleman is accorded death without exception. I should not want your death on my conscience, heaven forfend!"

"There are ways other than open defiance or violence to right a wrong between serf and noble," Arthur told her with a wink. "We cannot have you harassed in your own home by that rude fellow, Elf. Don't worry. We shall not endanger ourselves by our actions."

"Thank you, Arthur," she told him, and then she walked back to the house, her heart a bit lighter.

"Where have you been?" Isleen demanded as she reentered the hall. "I have had to change Richard’s bedding myself as that wretched old woman disappeared just when I needed her. She said she was fetching water for my husband’s bath, but she has not yet returned."

"Do you want me to remain here with you, or find Ida?" Elf asked her. Isleen’s tone was whiny, and frankly annoying. It was about time she did something for her husband.

"Oh, go and find her! Richard is asleep again. Where is my cousin? If I must sit here, I want some company at least," Isleen complained.

"I will find Ida," Elf said.

"I am here," Ida said, coming into the hall with a large basin. "I am not as young as I once was, lady, and cannot be hurried."

Isleen jumped up. "I cannot bear to sit here and watch my husband die!" she said. Then she hastened from the hall.

"You are not
that
slow," Elf said. "What on earth kept you, or did you mean for her to be alone with Dickon?"

"Her cousin came upon me howling and covered in vomit," Ida said. "He insisted I take his tunic from him to wash, and then he demanded a bath be brought for him. Imagine, a man who cannot hold his wine this early in the day," Ida concluded. "Come, let us bathe the lord."

Reaching out, Elf gently shook her brother. "Dickon, dearest, wake up. Ida and I would wash you."

Richard de Montfort’s eyes opened slowly. "Elf," he said, "I am sorry I sent you away. I should not have.
I should not have."
Then his body gave a long shudder, and his head fell to one side.

"Lord God and his blessed Mother have mercy on his soul!" Ida cried out, crossing herself as she began to weep.

Shocked, Eleanore de Montfort stared at her brother’s limp body, his sightless eyes.
"He is dead,"
she said, stating the obvious and crossing herself. Then she fell to her knees. "Dear God, forgive me that I could not save him, for I truly tried to do so, but I had not the skills despite all I have learned." Then she began to cry.

"She poisoned him!"
Ida said in venomous tones. "She has killed my baby, and I curse her for it! He called for you to come months ago, but she would not do it until she was certain nothing could save him, the wicked bitch! God curse her! God curse her!"

Hearing her old nurse’s lament, Elf stifled her own grief. Putting her arms about Ida, she said, "You cannot say such things, for you have no proof of it. Like you, I have become suspicious, but there is no real evidence. You can be killed for slandering Isleen. We must keep such doubts to ourselves, Ida.
We must!
Do you understand me, old woman? You cannot voice your concerns in this matter."

"Is she then to be allowed to escape judgment for the lord’s murder, my sweet lady?" Ida demanded angrily.

"Unless we can show the sheriff proof positive, we cannot accuse Isleen," Elf said quietly. "God knows the truth of this matter, and God will render his judgment and his punishment in his own time, Ida. We must trust in God." She hugged her nursemaid hard.

"For you," Ida said, "and for you alone will I be silent. You are now the lady of Ashlin, and I will obey you. Now, release me, child. We must bathe the lord’s body, and lay him out for his burial."

"Should we tell Isleen?" Elf wondered aloud.

"Not until he is ready and looking his best," Ida said. "I will go and fetch his shroud."

Elf sat by her brother’s side praying. Anyone entering the hall would assume that Richard de Montfort was sleeping. When the old woman returned, they stripped Richard’s body and tenderly bathed it. Elf was horrified at his skeletal look. She carefully kept her eyes averted from his private parts and let Ida attend to them. As he was washed, they wrapped him in his shroud, leaving his head uncovered so his mourners might gaze upon his face a final time. When he was buried it would then be covered over.

Elf looked at her brother’s once handsome face, now peaceful. She touched his cheek, and felt it was cool and waxlike. Tears rolled down her cheeks. What had brought her poor brother to this fate? Was it indeed poison as Ida insisted? It was odd that Dickon had sickened so suddenly when he had been robust all of his life. Bending, she kissed his forehead, then said to Ida, "Send Arthur for a priest. Dickon must be shrived before he is buried. And tell the carpenters to make the lord a fine coffin. My brother will lie in the hall for all his serfs to see and pay their respects."

"The coffin is already made, lady," Ida said. "I shall call for it to be brought in, and the lord laid in it. Arthur will go for the priest. He will have to bring him from the convent, I fear. There is none nearer."

"Very well," Elf said. "I shall tell Isleen now." She turned and made her way to the solar, which was behind the hall. Opening the door, she spied Isleen and Saer by the fireplace in a heated discussion.

Hearing the door creak, Isleen spun about. "What do you want?" she demanded angrily of Elf. Her face was flushed with her ire.

"Your husband is dead," Elf said.

"Oh, my God!" Her eyes went to Saer de Bude. "It is too soon!" she said. "He cannot be dead yet!
He cannot!"
Now her glance took in her sister-in-law. "Could you not have done
something,
Eleanore?"

"I am only human, Isleen. I cannot hold back death," Elf said tartly. "You knew Dickon was near his end."

"But now?"
Isleen wailed.

"It is God’s will," Elf answered her.

"Oh, cease your pious mouthings at me," Isleen cried, and she stamped her foot. "Now you have what you wanted all along, Ashlin! I hate you!
I hate you!"
And she burst into tears.

Saer de Bude gathered his cousin into the shelter of his arms. "She does not mean it, Eleanore," he said. "I am certain she doesn't mean it. She is just distraught with Richard’s death."

"I was sent from Ashlin at your behest when I was only five years old," Elf said, unable to control the sudden anger she felt welling up. "Great ladies raise their husband’s siblings, children from earlier marriages, and their bastards, Isleen, but you could not be bothered by one small girl. I was fortunate, however, for I found a real home at St. Frideswide's, and I found a wonderful life. I never aspired to possess Ashlin. If you had given my brother children, we should not have come to this point. I should have probably never seen this place again. Your children would have inherited, and if I were lucky, you might have taken a moment to send me word of my brother’s passing. But you did not do your duty by Dickon. You had no children, so under the law Ashlin is mine,
but I never wanted it!"

Isleen looked up from Saer’s shoulders. "I wanted children," she sobbed, "but your brother was not man enough to give them to me."