by Karen Brooks
Master Bigod wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Aye. Isolde taught Alyson how to brew, didn’t she, may God assoil her. Isolde was my second wife. My girl does a mighty fine job of it.’
I raised my cup in her direction. ‘You do. You could sell this and make a fortune.’
For a mere moment, Alyson met my eyes and there was no resentment, only surprise at the praise, before it was replaced by a hard, suspicious look. Then, her father waved his arm, almost striking her. ‘Don’t you go putting foolish notions in her head, wife. Who’d buy our ale out here? Anyhow, Alyson’s been busy keeping house.’ He looked about, smiling again, then his face transformed. ‘Only, now she don’t have to anymore. That’s what you be here for, ain’t it, wife?’
‘I … I …’
‘But … Pa,’ protested Alyson. ‘That’s my job. I look after the house.’
‘Not anymore you don’t,’ began Master Bigod, his face growing red. ‘Not on your own. Don’t worry. You’ll do as the mistress bids or we’ll find something else for you.’
Alyson jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t want to do anything else. I’ve always done this. Always. I like looking after things.’ Her arm swept the room. ‘I like looking after you and the boys. She …’ she spat. ‘She has no right to take that away. She’s no right to be here.’
Damn if my eyes didn’t burn. I buried my face in the mazer.
Master Bigod forced a chuckle. ‘There, there.’ He flapped a hand, indicating she should sit. ‘No need to make a fuss. Come on, Alyson love. Sit down. Have a drink to my new bride. A bride who has every right to be here. Who knows? Mayhap, one day soon, we’ll find you a husband and then –’
‘I don’t want a husband!’ screamed Alyson. I almost dropped my mazer. Hereward and Wake whined, Wake lowering himself onto the floor. ‘I never want one. I don’t want her here either, lazy little gap-toothed slut. Only reason she’s here’s because she’s a sinner what swived a priest and no-one else’d have her. Why’d you take her, Pa? Spoil everything. Couldn’t you have left well enough alone? Left her alone?’ She stood, her feet apart, hands on hips, eyes blazing. ‘Why don’t you go back to your manor and la de da ways, eh? I don’t need you or your help. Pa doesn’t need you either, so why don’t you just piss off?’
‘Now, now.’ Master Bigod rose and reached out, whether to thump her or offer comfort wasn’t clear. ‘No need to speak to your new ma like that.’
‘Ma?’ screeched Alyson. ‘Why, she’s younger than me. A child. A spoiled, stupid, ugly hog-child. She belongs in the sty.’ Fighting back tears, the look of betrayal on Alyson’s face wrenched my heart. I turned to offer solace, anything, but she slapped my hand away and, with a great sob, turned on her heel and ran out into the evening.
The four of us sat unmoving, not speaking as the sound of her boots grew fainter and fainter.
The croak of frogs could just be heard, the house creaked and a shutter whined before the cow bellowed, breaking the spell. I knew how it felt.
Master Bigod slowly sank back down on the stool, hitched up his breeches and cleared his throat. He gave a crooked smile.
‘All in all, I’d say that went very well, wouldn’t you, wife?’
FOUR
Bigod Farm
The Year of Our Lord 1364
In the thirty-eighth year of the reign of Edward III
Woken by the loudest of shrieks, I sat bolt upright, my hand clutching the bedclothes. I blinked, looked about, wondering momentarily where on God’s good earth I was, before I remembered.
Then I saw him.
Directly across from the bed, at the top of the ladder, was a large rooster.
It locked eyes with me, its bold comb quivering as it lifted its beak to release another screech. Before it could, King Claude, who unbeknown to me had been curled on the end of the bed, leapt. It was enough to send the bird flapping and squawking off his perch and out of sight. King Claude sauntered over to the doorway, really an opening in the wall against which a ladder leaned, before turning slowly and, with an elegant jump, returning to the bed. He completed a few circles then settled, raising his head to take my thanks, which I duly gave, along with a cautious pat on the head. I could hear the rooster scuttling about in the rushes below, clucking his indignation.
I slowly lay back down as the morning light revealed the room with its wide low beams and whitewashed walls, upon which hung a small cross and two sconces. A window had been cut into the wall to my right and I recalled leaving the shutters open as the smell of paint had been strong. Through the window I could see the day dawning. The air was moist, it had rained overnight, but it still carried the pungent odour of the refuse that surrounded the house. It really was intolerable. How like my lady I sounded. I wondered if she’d given me another thought. Had she asked The Poet how I fared? Had anyone? I wondered how long I might wait before I returned to Noke Manor for a visit. Would I even be welcome?
Trying not to think about that, I regarded the ends of the great wooden bed. I moved my feet, enjoying the feel of the soft covering, being careful not to disturb the cat, noting that the mattress was much more comfortable than my straw-filled one at Noke Manor. The sheets were clean, the coverlet appeared new. Altogether, a real effort had been made to prepare this room and, indeed, the house for my arrival. This was so contrary to what I’d expected, I still wasn’t certain what to make of it. To my left was a cloth-covered chair, upon which yesterday’s clothes were draped. I suppose I should rise and don them … Instead, I remained and thought about what happened yestereve after Alyson stormed out of the house.
It had been most uncomfortable, then Master Bigod set about being host. First, he sent one of the men, whose name I learned was Theo, to see if Alyson was alright.
‘She’ll likely be down by the stream, near that tree where the coneys have a warren.’ He gave Theo a pointed look.
Downing his mazer, Theo left immediately.
‘Alyson oft goes there, ’specially after her mama died. She used to love casting stones into the brook, tickling the fish and such.’ I was struck by both Master Bigod’s knowledge of his daughter’s pastimes and his consideration. Dear God, if I’d behaved like Alyson, not only Cook, but Master Merriman, Mistress Bertha and my father (if he’d been alive) would have dragged me back by the ears – that was, when they weren’t yelling in them. Master Bigod didn’t even appear cross, just resigned.
Maybe this was something Alyson did on a regular basis? Nay. She was out of sorts for one reason and one reason only: me. I wasn’t used to that, either. The other maids had been my gossips, my friends. Never expecting to find someone close to my own age here, let alone a daughter, I wondered if I could make a friend of her. A mother, I could never be. How can one be maternal to someone older than themselves? And dirtier, I added ungenerously, smoothing my clean tunic over my knees.
Next, Master Bigod sent the other man, Beton, out to collect more firewood. With a polite bow, he left. He bore a very strong resemblance to Theo, both being in possession of unruly brown hair and pale blue eyes. Theo was much taller than Beton, who was of middling height, but with very broad shoulders. Neither spoke much, but like the hounds, were obedient. Yet they didn’t seem afraid of Master Bigod … on the contrary …
Master Bigod went to the kitchen, returning moments later. The dogs followed and, from the way they sat with straight backs and eager snouts, it was evident they expected to be rewarded.
‘I’m guessing you’re hungry, wife,’ said Master Bigod gruffly, and set down a lump of hard cheese and a loaf of bread on the table. After detaching a knife from his belt, he began to slice.
‘Thank you.’ I took what he passed me. I was famished. I was also confused. Thus far, the man mocked by the villagers and said to be at best a bully and at worst a murderer, had shown me nothing but consideration. The lack of cleanliness of his person and outside the house aside, he was trying very hard. Was this an act that, like the masked mummers, would be exposed when the cu
rtain was drawn? I glanced up towards the loft bedroom. Or would he wait until we were alone?
Nibbling at the bread, which was coarse but surprisingly tasty, as was the cheese, I observed him as he absently fed the dogs bits of his meal, his eyes straying to the door.
Beton finished stoking the fire and, standing in the shadows, waited until Master Bigod not only beckoned him to join us, but insisted he help himself. Beton didn’t wait for a second invitation, but used his knife to cut himself a generous slab of bread and cheese.
‘We usually have butter too,’ said Master Bigod, his mouth full. ‘Alyson churns it regular like, but she was too busy sweeping out the house and preparing it for you, wife, and then coming to witness our marriage, to get that done.’
‘We all were,’ said Beton, spraying some crumbs. ‘Trying to get it nice for you, like the master wanted. We’ve been doing all sorts – cutting, polishing, hammering, even painting and washing.’
The two men beamed. Washing? Not themselves.
I found a smile. ‘Ah, well, I’m grateful.’ I glanced about. ‘It’s … um … er … very nice.’
As the shadows grew longer and evening wrapped its velvet arms about the house, the flames of the hearth throwing dancing shadows against the walls, Master Bigod rose and lit the candles, bringing one to the table.
Unasked, Beton began to close the shutters and then went outside and led the donkey back into the other part of the house. It pootled in and then dropped onto what was clearly its bed. The remainder of the chickens went to their roosts, which were on wooden shelves off the ground, their quiet clucks pleasant.
When Theo returned, breathless from running, he had another drink, gathered up some bread and cheese in a cloth and, after a brief and quiet exchange with Master Bigod, doffed his cap and left again. At a nod from Master Bigod, Beton closed the door. Almost immediately, the smoke, which had been swirling outside, began to congregate around the hearth, spreading about the room.
‘Alyson has decided to stay down by the stream tonight,’ explained Master Bigod. ‘There’s a little hut she can sleep in. Theo will keep an eye on her.’ He sat down across from me. ‘Forgive her, wife. This has been a shock. I didn’t know she’d followed me to the village till after we were wed.’
I shrugged. Who was I to complain? If Alyson was shocked, it didn’t hold a rushlight to what I was feeling. A wave of empathy for the angry young woman engulfed me. She was right, I’d no business being here, being married. But what choice did I have? I was but a girl, a commoner too, and thus beholden over and over to the whims of my betters. Unbidden, a tremor racked my body.
‘Are you warm enough?’ asked Master Bigod, concern etched on his features. ‘Would you like more to eat?’ He topped up my mazer. The ale was going to my head. It was stronger than the small ale I was accustomed to drinking.
‘I am, Master Bigod. Thank you.’ Hot. Cold. I was all and everything.
‘You can call me husband,’ he said. ‘Or Fulk, if you prefer. I might be your master in God’s eyes and the church’s, but under this roof, you also be my mistress.’
What a strange thing to say. Papa was the only person I knew who thought that while a man might be considered above a woman in every regard according to God and the law, only a foolish one cared who was in charge.
‘A woman might be a man’s helpmeet, but far better we meet in the middle and help each other,’ he would say.
‘Is that what you and Mamma did?’ I’d ask.
‘As best we could,’ he’d answer.
Master Bigod asked Beton to play some music and the young man went to a pallet bed on the other side of the hearth and rummaged about, extracting a flute. Soon the room was filled with the plaintive notes of his pipe. Hereward and Wake sat up, their large heads tilting first one way and then the other. It was funny and I wasn’t the only one amused.
My husband watched them, his eyes sparkling, his mouth curved in a warm arc. For the first time, I had the chance to really look at him, to see beyond the dirt and the rumours. There was no-one to whisper in my ears this night and cast aspersions.
I studied him as Father Roman did his psalter. I really only knew Fulk Bigod by the reputation others had given him. Taller than The Poet but shorter than my father, he was lean, spare in the body except for the beginnings of a paunch, which not even his tunic could disguise. His arms were long and sinewy, his fingers, as they drummed on the tabletop in time to the tune, were knobbly and large. A farmer’s hands, the backs speckled with spots and corded with veins. The skin was dry, like parchment. His legs, stretched out and crossed at the ankles, were well shaped. His face, hollow in the cheeks, was riven by deep wrinkles. His mouth was upturned and more generous in repose, his eyes deeply hooded. Yet, as he raised them to meet mine, surprisingly pale in colour. Almost colourless, like rain on glass. They were hard to read in a face that told a hundred stories, none of them the kind to lift the spirit – or so I’d thought.
Had the man been read wrong? After all, he’d shown me nothing but kindness. I knew he was a freeman, a loner who made a living raising sheep and selling their wool; he leased lands from the monks at Bath Abbey and cared for their flocks as well. But what about his other wives? What about the daughter no-one knew about? What about the vanishing servants?
‘You needn’t worry.’
He caught me unawares. The entire time I’d been studying him, he’d been appraising me. My cheeks burned. ‘Worry? About what?’ The quiver in my voice belied my words.
‘’Bout doing your wifely duty. I can see by the expression on your face it is concerning you. But you need not dwell on that. Not tonight. Not till you’re ready.’
‘Oh,’ I said. At the back of mind, I had been preparing myself for a bedding. I’d been imagining how long I could hold my breath, shut my eyes. Whether it would hurt. How I could tolerate his old hands touching me, that mouth kissing me … I’d tried not to let it come to the forefront lest I pick up my tunic and, like Alyson, run away as fast as I could. Though, unlike Alyson, I’d nowhere to hunker down.
‘I want a son,’ he continued quietly. ‘But I’ll not risk a demon-child by taking you against your will, wife. All I ask is that you don’t wait too long. I not be getting any younger.’
Or cleaner, I thought.
He was waiting. ‘Ah. Er. Thank you … husband.’
He grunted and drank some more. The fire crackled, the music played on and the tightness that had kept my back stiff, my neck held just so, began to abate. I hadn’t realised how coiled I was, like a tumbler before they leap and cavort.
I stared at the fire, then at my husband again. ‘May I ask you a question?’
‘I’ll not stop you.’
‘Why do you need a son? Cannot Alyson be your heir? It’s not unheard of, you know, a woman inheriting.’
‘Aye, I know. And I have sons, wife.’ He gestured to Beton.
‘Beton is your son?’
‘Aye, and Theo. There were others too, but they left to seek their fortune in the city or to soldier for the King. Some are dead, some …’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I’m … I’m so sorry.’ Sweet Jesu! The man bred like a coney.
He bowed his head. ‘My problem is, they’re not my sons – or my daughter – in God’s eyes. They’re sons of my heart.’
‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’
Master Bigod gave a sad smile. ‘Not many do, wife. But the truth of the matter is, while they’re not children from my loins, they are blood all the same and I love them like they’re my own. And while I’ll make sure to do right by them when I die, I’ve always wanted a child I had a hand in making, if you get my meaning. A son, if, God be praised, He blesses me so. A daughter I won’t complain about. Not too much anyway.’ He winked.
I was so taken aback, it was a long moment before I responded. Why, this was an act of great kindness, raising another man’s child. Children. But if they were his blood, then whose were they? Did he have br
others? Sisters? How many Bigods were there? Where were they? I wanted to ask but sensed I would learn in time.
‘My father,’ I began, ‘never complained about having a daughter. Cook at Noke Manor always said that made him a rare breed.’
‘Been called many things in my time, many true, many not, but never a rare breed.’ His smile broadened.
He stroked Wake’s ears and I couldn’t help but think of all the things I knew he had been called. I began to wonder how many were false.
‘Anyhow, breeding’s not the only reason I brought you here.’
‘Oh?’
He nodded towards the door. ‘Alyson needs a friend. Someone near her own age. It’s not right, her being here day in day out with only me and the lads for company. You’ll be good for her.’ He drank the last of his ale, stifling a belch. ‘And I know she’ll be good for you.’
Of that, I wasn’t so certain.
We retired soon after. Me, upstairs to the loft and its huge comfortable bed and fresh linen, with herbs strewn over the wooden floor, clean water in the basin and my burlap atop the chest in the corner. My husband, Beton, and the dogs took the pallets between the fire and the other animals.
I heard their quiet whispers, the contented noises of the creatures, the hushing sound as the ceramic fire-cover was placed over the smouldering flames, before falling into a deep sleep.
Voices and the shutters being opened broke my reverie and sent me from bed. Using the water in the jug, and a stained but clean cloth, I washed my neck, face and hands and donned my shift. My burlap still lay unpacked – not that it held much. Sitting on the end of the bed, I undid my plaits and tidied my hair before redoing them and, as a married woman should, tucking them beneath my cap. The last thing I did was tie my apron then, with a deep breath, I descended the ladder.
‘Greetings, wife,’ said Master Bigod. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, the fire was crackling, and the animals had been let out into the yard. A basket of eggs sat on the table, fresh baked bread and a lump of very white butter as well. Alyson had evidently returned and been busy. My mouth began to water.
