The Shattered Rose (19 page)

Raoul whistled. "So your family has this part of the country in its fist and a real ability to interfere with the bishop."

"Exactly. And my father is not the type of man to take abuses in silence."

"But if the bishop can control Heywood, he will have significantly weakened the power of Lord William of Brome."

"And if my father objects, the king has an excuse to break him."

Raoul scanned the countryside with his sharp eyes. "The bishop and his pawn will be back, then, one way or another."

If there were other murderers lurking in the woods, however, they were too cautious to attack such a large and alert troop. The party arrived safely at Heywood in the early afternoon.

Making a show of it, Galeran went to take the babe from Jehanne so she could dismount, and carried Donata into the keep.

"Galeran," said Jehanne as they entered the hall. "I would give her up for you. I would. Don't pledge yourself to her cause."

He returned the babe to her. "I have already done so. She is an innocent, Jehanne. I wouldn't give a serf's babe over to wolves, and I will not give Donata to Flambard and Lowick. At the very least, she was born in my castle and is under my protection. Go tend her. And then," he said with a smile, "I would like a bath."

* * * * *

Jehanne left Galeran with anguished love in her heart. At times it seemed to her he was good to the point of madness, and she wanted to berate him as she had when they'd been young. But she knew his strong sense of justice didn't blind him to reality, and that his wits were sharp.

As he'd proved today.

But he was idealistic, and that was dangerous.

As she called for her women, she remembered all too well those times when her father was alive and Raymond had visited Heywood and flirted with her. She'd always been terrified that Galeran would take offense and make it a fighting matter.

What if it came to fighting now? Galeran was a good soldier, but no match for one like Lowick, who was bigger and known throughout the north for his fighting skills.

She'd spoken the truth earlier. Though it would tear her heart into tiny pieces, she would give Donata to the wolves rather than see Galeran die to protect her bastard child.

Her women brought warm water and clean cloths and she let them change and bathe Donata as she washed and drank some ale to refresh herself from the journey. She knew she hovered too close to Donata. She was in the habit of doing nearly everything for her, but now she made herself stand back. The time might come when she would need to be able to act on cold logic.

Distance might help.

Then Donata cried, her milk gushed forward in response, and she reached for her babe with joy and despair in her heart.

* * * * *

Galeran had John take his armor for cleaning, then went to praise Walter of Matlock for his assistance to Jehanne.

"I knew well enough, Lord, that you'd not want either of them snatched away to Durham."

"Would you do the same, though, if the bishop excommunicates me?"

"Would he be so foolish as that, Lord? To try to unbless a crusader?"

"Ah, yes. I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to glow with glory."

Having the Holy Land brought to mind, Galeran went to find his packs, and carefully unwrapped several items. The wrapping itself might appeal to Jehanne, for inside the leather outer layer he had used a fine cloth from the east called
qu'tun,
which held dyes well.

The precious items, however, were inside.

Reverently, he took out rolled palm leaves from the road to Jerusalem, a silver cross holding water from the Jordan, a withered branch from the Garden of Olives, a pouch of dust from Calvary, and a chip of stone from a place supposed to be the Holy Sepulcher.

He contemplated another package, a spherical one, with hesitation, but in the end he unwrapped to revealed a small skull. "The skull of John the Baptist as a child, Lord!" the eager seller had whispered. "For you only . . ."

It had made him want to laugh as few things had then, so he'd bought it to share the joke with Jehanne. He hadn't needed to bring the skull, of course, to tell the tale—especially since others had bought the same relic without realizing the absurdity—but he'd intended to see how long it took her to realize what an impossible item it was.

Miracles could perhaps preserve vials of the Virgin's milk, or wine from Cana, but it would take more than a miracle to preserve the childsize skull of a man who died in his thirties.

Now, however, there was nothing at all humorous about a baby's skull. He ran a hand over the smooth white bone, tracing the edge of the eye sockets, thinking that doubtless a mother had grieved over this child's death as Jehanne grieved over Gallot.

As he himself grieved, or could . . .

He wrapped the skull again. It was the ideal gift for Ranulph Flambard, for he wanted rid of it. With luck the bishop would not see the absurdity, for many clever people did not. It would satisfy Galeran to see the man build a rich reliquary for it. If Flambard did see it for a fraud, he could read into it what he wanted.

After all, Galeran had only promised the bishop something from the Holy Land, and it was that.

He had the scribe write a courteous letter. In it, he thanked the bishop for his assistance in smoothing the problems between himself and Raymond of Lowick, and begged him to accept the gift and remember all in Heywood in his prayers.

Jehanne joined him just as he was dispatching the messenger. He told her what he had done, but didn't tell her what the relic was. When, he wondered sadly, would the freedom to share such a joke return to their lives? __

"I suppose it's wise to thank him," she said, inspecting the other items reverently. "Though it seems a waste."

More and more he wished he could tell her, and was even tempted for a moment, but—taking strength from Christ on the mountain—he resisted.

She felt the leathery palm fronds. "What sort of tree is a palm? These are more like the leaves of a bullrush."

So he described palm trees to her as the bath was prepared, and olive trees as well. He told her of heat and desert and how ordinary Bethlehem was.

"Were you disappointed?" she asked as she supervised the addition of cold water to hot.

"Only for a moment. Then I liked the thought that our Christ lived as an ordinary man. Not the glowing prince of the manuscripts, but a man with dust on his skin and calluses on his hands."

He spread his own hands thoughtfully and Jehanne took them, turning them to trace the tough pads of skin created by a lifetime of training for war. "How else would a man's hands be?"

"It sustains me," he said, "that thought. That Christ really was a man for a time, and perhaps understands men."

"I feel the same way about Christ's mother." She helped him off with his shirt, shaking her head over the blood. "Though I don't like this new idea that she was a virgin."

"It does seem strange. . . ." Galeran sank into the water with a pleased sigh. "Two baths inside a week. Luxury!"

As she began to help him to wash, Jehanne said, "Tell me more about those baths in Constantinople."

So he did so, and went on to talk of other matters such as the food, and the costumes of the various lands he had seen. He avoided all mention of fighting, though.

When he was drying himself and the servants were emptying the tub, Jehanne said, "I wish we had a bathroom like the one at Burstock."

"It would have to be out in the bailey near the kitchens, I think. What's wrong with the arrangement here?"

"Nothing, I suppose." She smiled. "I'm really thinking that I'd like a sunken marble bath big enough to swim in."

He smiled back. "I'd give you the moon and the stars if I could, Jehanne, but a sunken marble bath is beyond me."

She blushed and laughed, and it was the first time he'd heard her laugh like that since his return.

She glanced once at the bed. His body reacted, but he stayed where he was. Though it would be sinfully easy to slide back into their old ways, he mustn't until he had made sense of it all.

"Jehanne. I need to know exactly what happened between you and Raymond."

She paled. For a moment he thought she wouldn't speak, but then, clearing away damp cloths, she said, "I never betrayed you in my heart, Galeran. I never desired him. Can we not leave it at that?"

"No. Did he rape you?"

She stared at him. "No!"

"If you didn't desire him, and he didn't force you, what did happen?" When she remained silent, he said, "Jehanne, how I handle this matter in the future, what I can expect Lowick to do, all depends on what happened here the night of Gallot's death."

It was as if she'd turned into a painted statue, standing there clutching a damp drying cloth. But then she dropped it and sank to kneel by him in a swirl of colored cloth. "I'm afraid you'll hate me."

He wanted to gather her in his arms and reassure her, but her fear sparked fear in himself. Jehanne was not stupid. He'd forgiven her for infidelity, so why did she fear that the details would be beyond forgiveness? "I am slow to hate. You should know that And I love you."

She rested her head against his leg. "As I do not deserve to be loved . . ."

"Jehanne. Tell me. Explain to me."

"I don’t know if I can. Perhaps it is simplest to say that I was mad."

"Not too surprising, that." He stopped his hand from reaching to stroke her hair. "You had just lost your babe."

"And it was possible that I had lost you as well. When I heard that news, I began to think that God had taken you as exchange for a child." She looked up. "I
never
meant that, Galeran!"

"Nor would God be part of such an evil bargain."

She grimaced. "I knew you wouldn't understand." She rested her head against his thigh again, so he couldn't see her face. "I'm not good like you, Galeran, and I make God in my own image. I bargained with God that I would send you on crusade in exchange for a child. I knew you didn't want to go, but I pushed you to it anyway. When I heard you were dead, I didn't really believe it, but I wondered . .. I wondered whether God had taken more man IH offered. Or if I'd offered more than I thought. I prayed for your safety. Every day I prayed. But men Gallot died . . ."

He did touch her hair then, for it seemed she weighed heavier against his leg.

"It was so sudden, so inexplicable ... I decided God had answered my prayers that way, switching items like a cheating huckster at the fair . . ."

"Jehanne!"

"I hated God." She looked up fiercely. "I did. I
hated
Him. I wanted comfort, yes, and a brief oblivion. But mostly I wanted to do the most evil thing I could imagine. So I seduced Raymond."

Galeran didn't know whether to rage or cry. "That was the most evil thing you could imagine?"

"Other than murdering my child, and perhaps I'd already done that."

Chill shot through him. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes widened. "I didn't! But it seemed some act of mine, some thought of mine . . . those prayers . . ." She leaped to her feet to pace the room. "Babes don't die for no reason. Perhaps my prayers for you were answered. Perhaps I could have either Gallot or you, and I'd chosen you. . .."

"That's nonsense. How can you be sure Raymond didn't kill him?"

She stopped to face him. "As I said before, I'm not a heavy sleeper. When have you ever left our bed and I not wake?"

"True. And you could not have been given a drug?"

"I would have known. And anyway, he would not have done such a thing. He was fond of Gallot. He would play with him. ..."

Now Galeran leaped to his feet. "For the mercy of God, Jehanne! Is it not enough that he took my place in your bed without him dandling the son I never saw?"

It was as if he'd hit her again. "I can only tell the truth."

"Then let's not speak of it."

"Galeran . . ."

"Go away."

"Galeran!"

"Go!"

She ran, which showed wisdom, for he could feel the rage building like a fire capable of consuming everything in its path.

Galeran sank back onto the bench, trembling with it. Jehanne was right. They needed truth to clean these wounds,

but not yet. Not yet. Truth such as today's revelations was more than he could bear.

He'd had little direct contact with young children, but he could still imagine Raymond of Lowick—handsome, charming Raymond—bouncing an infant on his knee. He could hear the infant laughing, thinking of this golden god as his.

He pushed to his feet and dragged on the clothes Jehanne had laid out for him. It was time, anyway, for him to preside over a meal in his hall, to convince even the doubting that peace and harmony reigned in Heywood.

His hands paused in the tying of his braies. Peace and harmony, indeed.

She'd seduced Lowick because she hated God? It was madness, but it was just the sort of thing Jehanne would have done in her willful youth. He'd thought she'd grown out of such wild ways.

Finishing the knot, he saw the ivory rose on its table. The cracked petal was straight again, but he didn't dare touch it. She'd not meant to break it all those years ago, he was sure. Her frustration had just exploded.

More recently, in a more cataclysmic way, her grief had exploded into rage. Shattering rage against God. He could believe it, and he sent up a prayer for her forgiveness, and another that she never confess such a sin hi public.

As he put on the floor-length tunic of blue silk-embroidered wool that Jehanne had selected for him and added a gilded belt, he began to feel some comfort from their talk, bitter though it had been. He did understand now. His problem, he thought, choosing a silver and gold chain to wear around his neck, was how to convince the world that there was no need of punishment.

A good start would be an impressive appearance as lord and lady. He summoned Jehanne back and told her to dress more richly.

She exchanged her workaday linen tunic for one of silk,

and her braid girdle for one worked with gold thread and pearls. She dressed in silence and without looking at him at all.