The Very Best of Kate Elliott (30 page)

“My child, it is, alas, time that we thought of a worthy alliance for you.”

“My lord,” she replied, “we must trust to God to provide what is necessary. If a good match presents itself, I will accept it. If it does not, then I am content to devote myself to good deeds and to God’s work, and to remain a handmaiden of Christ.”

Berulf accepted this answer gladly, since he was in no hurry to lose his daughter.

Ten

One night soon after this it happened that Duke Amalo drank too much at dinner. When he thought of going to bed, he thought at that same moment of the young woman whom he desired. By this time he was completely drunk.

“Go to her house,” he said to his servants, “seize her, if she will not come willingly, and bring her to my bed.” He went to his bedchamber to await her.

When the servants came, more than ten of them, to Berulf ’s house, they made their demand.

Merofled stood up proudly and faced them. “I and my father have already given our reply. Now begone from this house, where you are not welcome.”

At this, the servants swarmed forward and grabbed hold of her. Her father sent his elder son running to fetch his sword, and even old Theudichild laid about her with her walking stick, but the servants were better armed. Merofled fought against them, overturning tables and chairs, but at last they pinned her arms behind her, tied them, and carried her off like a sack of grain.

No one in the house dared follow, because of Duke Amalo’s rank and family.

Eleven

In this way Merofled was brought to Duke Amalo’s house. Once in the house they set her down and untied her, thinking that now she would accept the honor of the Duke’s attention, but at once she struck about her with her fists and ran for the door.

It took three men at arms to subdue her. They hit her in the face until her nose bled and dragged her upstairs to the bedchamber, where, still fighting, she bled all over the bed, staining the covers red.

Duke Amalo had not waited in tranquil silence while this kidnapping took place. He had taken off his sword and belt and most of his clothing, in anticipation of her arrival. He also had at hand more wine, and when his men dragged Merofled in, he poured a new cup.

“Leave us!” he shouted, and they hurried out, so that Amalo and Merofled were left alone in the chamber.

Stanching the blood from her nose, she climbed off the bed and stared defiantly at him.

“Here is wine,” he said, offering her the second cup, “with which we will drink to the consummation of our marriage.”

“I refuse it, just as I refuse your offer of marriage, just as I refuse to inhabit your bed.”

This was too much for the Duke’s uncertain temper. He threw the cup down and it shattered into pieces, the wine staining the carpet a red as deep as the blood that stained the bedcovers. He grabbed hold of Merofled and struck and slapped her. Now he was a man made strong by years of riding and hunting and war, and though Merofled resisted, she was by this time dizzy with the blows she had taken rather than give in to his blandishments, high rank, and threats. Her heart was still strong, but her flesh was weakening from the abuse it had taken, and suddenly she went limp despite her efforts to continue resisting.

As if this was encouragement, he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed beside him, ready to make her his wife. So overcome was he by her closeness, by the expectation that his desire would now be fulfilled, and by the great amount of wine he had drunk, that he shut his eyes.

Merofled had given herself up to prayer and to her belief in God’s judgment. She felt Amalo’s grasp slacken just a bit, and taking this as a sign from God she summoned up every last portion of strength that God had granted her. She caught sight of Amalo’s sword where he had placed it on the chest at the head of the bed.

Stretching out her hand, she took hold of the hilt and drew the blade from its scabbard. Aroused by her movement, Amalo opened his eyes and began to roll on top of her.

Needing no further encouragement, she struck him as hard as she could with his sword. The blow took him in his naked chest, and he howled in pain.

At once, servants ran into the room. They broke into great clamor while Amalo screamed and moaned. His soldiers grabbed Merofled, disarmed her, and pulled their own knives and swords in order to kill her immediately.

But Amalo, seeing this, took hold of himself. Weeping, he cried out to them.

“Stop! The sin is mine, not hers, for I tried to rape her. She only did this to preserve her honor. Do not hurt her.”

As soon as these words left his lips, his eyes rolled up in his head, blood poured from his mouth, and he stopped breathing.

By this time others of his family, relations and servants, had come rushing into the chamber to see what the commotion was about. When he died, a cry of grief and disbelief rose from them all and they were filled with consternation.

Twelve

While servants and family alike stood in the room lamenting, Merofled struggled to her feet and, still dizzy, crept out from the midst of that host. They were all so consumed by grief and astonishment that they did not at first notice her escape.

But with God’s help she made her way out of his house and ran home.

Now you may imagine the consternation, of a different kind, that erupted in her father’s house when she came in, her clothes torn, her face bloody, her body covered with bruises.

At first her family covered her with kisses, thanking God for her safe return, but when she told her story, they barred the doors and windows and her old grandmother, Theudichild, began to keen with a new grief.

“Ah, child, you have brought ill luck on us. Now Duke Amalo’s relatives will ride here and avenge themselves on our house. They will kill my sole remaining son, my grandsons, and no doubt burn down the only house I have ever known. If you had only given in to him, knowing that his power ranks far above ours, you should have had a good marriage gift from him, and we should have had peace.”

“It is not I who have sinned!” said Merofled. “I have only protected my virginity and the honor of this house.”

“That may be,” said her father, “but his kinsmen will avenge themselves on you and your family nevertheless.”

“Then I will go to the King himself and plead my case!”

Her family protested at once that she could do no such thing, for she was weak from loss of blood and from the beatings she had sustained, and the roads were not always safe.

“God will guard me,” she said. She washed her face and limbs and she put on clean clothes.

Thirteen

At dawn, she took her father’s gelding and two servants and without fear set out on the road to Chalon, where it was said that King Guntram was now staying, for in the month of September he liked to celebrate the feast day of Saint Marcellus in the church dedicated to the saint.

A full thirty-five miles she rode, and when she came to the city of Chalon, she went directly to the church. The King and his entire retinue were worshiping in the church, but Merofled walked into the church without hesitation. She begged to be brought before the King. When his guards admitted her to his presence, she threw herself at King Guntram’s feet and in plain language told him everything that had happened to her.

Because he was a God-fearing man, King Guntram was filled with compassion for the young woman. He rose. Every person in the church quieted in order to hear him pass judgment.

“God has already passed judgment in this case,” he said.“I would not challenge what he has allowed to come to pass. For this reason, I grant you, Merofled, daughter of Berulf and Ingund, your life, for you have lawfully protected yourself against theft.”

“What of Duke Amalo’s relations, King Guntram?” she asked boldly. “I am of free birth, and my family is a good one, but we cannot protect ourselves against any revenge they might intend, for they are more powerful than we are.”

He nodded, for this was indeed a reasonable concern. “Then I place you under my protection, and I prohibit any of the dead man’s relations from exacting vengeance on you or your family.”

So it was done.

Fourteen

With this royal edict in hand, Merofled rode home, having protected herself from Duke Amalo’s brutal attentions and her family from the vengeance of his kinsmen.

Nor have I heard that any other incident disturbed her life, which, with God to guard her, proved both long and prosperous.

M
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OICE IS IN
M
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WORD

A
J
ARAN
S
TORY

WE KNEW WE WERE in trouble when Macbeth insisted on seeing the witches first.

You know the bit: Banquo and Macbeth enter and Banquo says, “‘What are these, so wither’d and so wild in their attire?’” That’s his moment, when he points out the three witches to Macbeth and Macbeth sees them for the first time, those three terrible hags who will hail Macbeth as king when of course he isn’t king yet and will only become king by murder most foul.

Have you heard about actors who won’t let any of the other actors have moments on stage that are theirs alone?

“Hey,” said Bax to Yu-Sun, who was playing Banquo in drag,
“I’ll
see the witches first, and then I’ll tap you on the shoulder and you see them and say the line.”

I propped my feet up on a stool and looked at Octavian and Octavian looked at me, and we both sighed. No doubt you’re asking yourself where the director was, who might correct this little bit of scene-stealing. Well, he was right where he ought to be, sitting at a table staring at the taped-out stage where the five actors walked through the scene. He didn’t say a word. How could he?

So they went on. The witches say their lines and Macbeth and Banquo say a few more, and just before the witches vanish, Bax got in a feel to Emmi’s breast, just grabbed it, and Emmi went all stiff in the face and twisted away from him, and for all you could tell from El Directore’s face, he hadn’t seen a thing. But Emmi did double time off to the side, looking like steam was about to pour out of her ears. Enter Ross and Angus.

I’m Ross, by the way. The big joke is that I always have to play Ross in the Scottish play because my real name is Ross.

By the time rehearsal was over, Bax had managed to grope another witch and twist King Duncan’s arm so hard while offering fealty that it actually brought a tear to old Jon-Jon’s good eye. We retired to nurse our wounds, en masse to the hostel where we were sleeping, and Bax made a grand exit with his three lamias—one in each shade—to wherever it was a star of his stature stays on an alien world with a limited number of oxygen-rich chambers in which humankind can breathe.

“Lady Christ in Heaven,” said Emmi, massaging her bruised breast while Jon-Jon examined his wrenched wrist with bemused interest. “I don’t think I’m going to survive four more weeks of this. Where’d he get you, Cheri?”

Cheri—Second Witch—shrugged. She’d probably endured worse, back when she was a hootch dancer on Tau Ceti Tierce.“Crotch. What a pig.”

“But Cheri, my dear,” said Octavian quietly,“he’s a Star.”

Kostas—who should have been playing the lead but was playing Macduff instead—peered down from his bunk. “Why is it that Stars have to prove their legitimacy by doing theater? Can’t they stay on their holies and interactives and leave us to do what we’ve trained for? I still can’t believe Bax began directing during the damned read-through. And El Directore didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh, well,” said Emmi.“I’m sure it’ll get better. It certainly can’t get worse.”

Emmi, we all had to agree later, would not be auditioning for the role of Cassandra in
Troilus and Cressida
anytime soon.

We took two days more to block out the rest of the play and Bax behaved himself, except that he ate sandwiches and drank coffee every time he was on stage, walking around with the cup in one hand and his script in the other. When he fought and killed young Siward for the first time, he ate a sandwich during the fight scene and dribbled crumbs onto poor prostrate Ahmed—who was doubling as Donalbain and young Siward—while he said his lines.

At the end of the first week, the diplomat Phalasath Caraglio arrived to give us the official tour of the Squat homeworld. Yes, I know, you’re not supposed to call them Squats, but you can’t really help it. They seem to spend an endless amount of time sitting around, and whether they’re sitting or standing, they only reach hip-high.

Caraglio gave us the standard Squat lecture as we trundled along in a big sealed barge down a canal filled with gold coins. Or, at least, they looked like gold coins. Since humans couldn’t breathe the atmosphere, none of us had gotten close enough to check for certain.

“Our hosts are only the second alien group who specifically requested an artistic embassy to their planet, and you will offer them their first glimpse into human art and culture and history. I hope I don’t need to remind you that you were chosen for your professionalism and your skill, and your reputation as a first rank theater company.”