by Karen Brooks
‘May God give you good day, Geoffrey!’ I exclaimed, walking into his open arms and kissing him roundly on the mouth.
‘You too, Eleanor. Why, you’re the picture of health.’
I slapped his arm. ‘Look. Here comes Alyson.’
Where the years had been kind to me, to Alyson they’d been less generous. After Odo ran away, she forswore men. I’d laughed, which just seemed to make her more determined. There were plenty of young men keen to attract her interest. Not only was she known as the daughter of a successful wool producer and farmer, but she was comely after a fashion. True, her skin was coarser than it had been, and she dedicated herself to the loom in what might have been considered an unhealthy way, except that what she produced was so intricate and fine, it put weavers in Ypres and Ghent to shame. I tried to encourage her outside, to enjoy the sun when it shone, even to stand in the rain or snow when it didn’t, but she couldn’t be persuaded. Wan of face, her hair lacked the lustre it once had. I kept hoping time would lift her spirits, but nothing thus far had worked. Nevertheless, she was pleased to see Geoffrey.
We escorted him inside, showing him the additions that had been made since his last visit. The maids quickly took his cloak, brought over a jug of ale and some food to the table – a larger trestle. In what was rather a boastful gesture, I asked the girls to remove the food and drink to the solar.
‘Solar?’ exclaimed Geoffrey, his eyes widening. ‘Well, well, well, aren’t you the fancy lady?’
‘You don’t know the half,’ I said, laughing. ‘And speaking of fancy,’ I said, flicking the insignia on his tunic. ‘What’s this? Lancaster colours if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not,’ said Geoffrey, collapsing into one of the two fabric-covered chairs. I took the other as Alyson dragged over a stool and sat at my feet, her distaff and spindle already busy. ‘Since I was last here, much has happened. But tell me, cousin, when might I see your good husband?’
I explained Fulk was in the fields. October was when we planted our wheat and rye, and though Theo and Beton were perfectly capable of overseeing this, heavy frosts had made the ground so hard, and the process so time-consuming and difficult, Fulk had insisted on supervising. Theo and Beton were sent to check the flock. After I’d assured Geoffrey that Fulk would be back for nuncheon, I filled him in on what we’d been doing as we drank ale and picked at white bread and slices of goose left over from the Feast of St Francis.
‘Now, your turn, tell me what you’ve been up to.’
Reluctant at first, Geoffrey revealed that not only was he in service to the King, but he was now married.
‘Married!’ I exclaimed. My face grew hot and it took all my composure not to wriggle in my seat. Alyson ceased to spin and shifted her gaze from Geoffrey to me and back again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him being wed. It wasn’t jealousy exactly … But what was it?
Was it not our lot to marry, to go forth and multiply?
‘Praise be,’ I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘What’s she like, your wife?’
Geoffrey considered his answer. ‘Her name is Philippa de Roet. I’m told she’s remarkably like her sister, Katherine Swynford, who’s considered quite the beauty.’
To his credit, he didn’t preen. My hand crept to my cap, then to my cheek.
‘She hails from Hainault, where the Queen is from,’ continued Geoffrey. ‘In fact, she arrived with the Queen’s entourage.’
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t really care about that. I wanted to know if Philippa had nice eyes, teeth, a sparkling wit, breasts, hips. Was she bold, was she kind?
Geoffrey stared into his cup. Our drinking vessels were no longer made from wood, but silver. I wondered if he noticed. This was Geoffrey, of course he did.
‘Come on,’ I said finally. ‘Out with it. It’s clear you’ve something else to tell and don’t know how. What is it you’ve done? From your letters, I know of the annuity the King has granted you. Congratulations. We heard Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster, died and that you wrote a tribute to her.’ He nodded. ‘I hope the Duke appreciated it.’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I’m not persuaded John of Gaunt appreciates anything but himself.’
Alyson stifled a giggle. I snorted. ‘And … what else?’
Geoffrey raised his head. ‘I wanted to let you know, I not only married, but I’ve a son.’
My hand flew to my stomach; the pain that flared was so acute, it was as if all the children Fulk and I had been praying for had fallen over, unborn, in my womb.
Unable to hide my envy at this news, I was aware Geoffrey knew what a blow this was, that he who had never really sought to make a child should have one, and with such ease in so short a time. He had not only gained a bride but a family. Nevertheless, he should rejoice – and we should on his behalf. What would Fulk say? By telling me, Geoffrey had not only relieved himself of the duty, but was allowing me to break it to my husband when the time was right.
I pushed aside my grief for something I’d never had and smiled. It was genuine. I was happy for him. ‘God be praised. When did you welcome him? What is he named?’
‘Thomas,’ said Geoffrey, relaxing a little. ‘His name is Thomas and he was born last year.’
‘Last year …’ That hurt more. It had taken Geoffrey a long time to summon the courage to tell me. That wasn’t fair. The man loathed to hurt me and I loved him for it. Or would again, once I’d thought upon this.
‘I guess that means I’ve another cousin.’
‘Me too,’ added Alyson.
Geoffrey’s face brightened then. ‘I guess it does. Lucky lad to have such a family.’ You’ll recall I mentioned Geoffrey had a way with words.
We were interrupted by the arrival of Fulk and, soon after, Theo and Beton. Insisting Geoffrey stay and showing him to our guest room (the latest addition to our ever-expanding house), I occupied myself discussing with Milda what should be prepared for supper and making sure the ale was drinkable. We’d made a batch a few days earlier.
I filled the jugs and passed them to Sophie, listening to the voices of the men as Fulk showed Geoffrey about. He was so proud of what we’d accomplished. While I knew a great deal of it was due to my bribes and demands, my insistence things be done or bought or redone a certain way, something Fulk boasted about, I also knew in my heart I’d denied my husband in the worst possible way.
I might have made him richer in coin, but I had failed to give him what his heart truly desired. Not just a child of his own, but a son to whom he could leave all that he’d laboured so long to achieve.
I waited until Sophie left the kitchen and then, sitting on a stool, watched through tears as darkness crept in the open door, spread across the floor and, bit by bit, shrouded my barren body.
NINE
Bigod Farm
The Year of Our Lord 1369
In the forty-third year of the reign of Edward III
It is said that those who enjoy the benefits of the Wheel of Fortune must also expect, at some time, to experience its woes.
They’re right. In 1369, my time arrived.
Since the previous autumn, heavy rains had fallen, causing part of our land to flood. We lost a number of sheep, but weren’t alone in that. Turbet had an entire field wash away, as did many of the farms around Bath. The Abbey lands became water-logged and half their flock caught the murrain and either died or had to be slaughtered. Those who survived were transferred to our higher pastures or Turbet’s. What fleeces could be salvaged, when they weren’t riddled with mould and infection, were impossible to wash and dry.
It wasn’t only wool growers who suffered. For Bath and its surrounding villages, the never-ending rain meant thick, claggy mud. Ploughs became bogged, oxen, donkeys, horses – it mattered not what beasts were harnessed to the yoke, even men; the equipment couldn’t move in the moribund earth. We only managed to sow wheat because the fields were on higher ground, but it was an anxious wait to see if anything sprouted. The
rye we couldn’t plant at all, and we were the lucky ones. That year, more fields were left fallow since the Botch almost twenty years earlier. This time, though, men and women were available to work the land, but it refused to yield what hungry mouths needed to survive. Famine came.
Because of Fulk’s thrift, we were able to buy stores – sacks of grain to mill for bread, vegetables and fruit, some of it imported. We made ale, albeit not very pleasant-tasting, and either sold or traded it. We had a surfeit of meat, and took what we could spare to the manor and Abbey so it might be distributed among those less fortunate. Not even our brook could be relied upon for fish, or the River Avon, as it was too dangerous, the waters deep and swirling. Two lads fishing near Bathwick Mill fell in the river and drowned. Boats were washed ashore or sunk, bridges became impassable, which meant stores couldn’t be delivered and markets were cancelled.
Heavy rain also meant the men couldn’t work the fields, so workers were sent home – extra maids as well. The rest were trapped indoors, underfoot. Fulk and I generally rubbed along quite well together, our arguments few and far between, but those months I’ll remember not just for the worry over vittles and rain but the bitter words we exchanged. At the height of our quarrels, he would become so angry he would stride out the door, remaining in the barn tinkering until his temper cooled. Being inclined to choler, unlike my husband who was far more phlegmatic, I would often throw things in my rage.
After one particularly nasty squabble on a dreary afternoon in April, I shattered a beautiful glass sphere my husband had bought me from the markets in Bedford. Alyson lifted her head from the loom by the window and said, ‘Oh, grow up, will you?’
Milda and Sophie pretended not to have heard, remaining focused on their carding and spinning.
I stared at Alyson, stricken. She usually took my side. With a cry of fury, I stomped off to the solar and would have slammed the door only the wood had swollen and it wouldn’t shut.
So I kicked it, flopped into a chair, folded my arms and brooded.
The newly fitted shutters rattled as the rain lashed them. I could hear the braying of the beasts in the barn even above the noise. No doubt, Fulk was complaining to them about his shrewish wife. The brook had again burst its banks and the sound of water carving out new paths, taking with it the lodgings of all manner of creatures, as well as parts of our vegetable garden, just made me furious. Furious and despondent. Until, after an hour of self-indulgent pity, it didn’t. After all, I thought, as my temper receded, how fortunate was I to have a roof over my head, food in my belly, when not only the little creatures were denied all these, but so many poorer folk. What about those who’d died?
I became stricken with guilt. Alyson was right. I was behaving like a child, throwing tantrums, complaining because my husband tracked mud into the house. Who did not? As he said, would I prefer it he never entered his own home? My hesitation had been enough to send him back outside, into the cold, the wet, the misery.
He hadn’t deserved that. He was too old for such treatment.
Donning my cloak, flashing an apologetic smile in Alyson’s direction, who gave me an undeservedly warm one in return, I ran out through the rain to the barn.
I couldn’t see him at first; the interior was dark after the pale greyness of the day outside. I blinked the water out of my eyes and threw back my hood. The animals were unnaturally quiet, staring at me with sombre faces. Only the chickens fussed and rooted in the hay, which was scattered in a most unseemly manner, not just in their roosts, but below their nesting boxes. Anger, always so close to the surface lately, flared again. Why, the hens might lay their eggs only to have them trampled. We needed eggs now more than ever. Dear God in Heaven, could no-one be trusted to do a job correctly?
I scooped up a pile of hay and was about to share it among the nests, when I saw a body lying against the goats’ stall.
‘Fulk!’ I screamed and, dropping the hay, fell to my knees.
He was lying on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. His mouth was moving, but no sound came. I quickly checked him for any injuries, blood, but there was nothing. No broken limbs, no sign of an intruder, though there was a great lump on the back of his head. I shouted, screamed. The animals began to bray and bleat, distressed by my distress.
It was our combined noise that finally brought Alyson and Milda out of the house.
‘Pa!’ Alyson cried. Her hands fluttered uselessly, tears welled. I needed to take control, remain calm.
Milda began to secure the animals.
‘Milda, tell Warren to fetch Doctor Jameson.’ Warren was one of our live-in workers from the village. A good rider.
Milda glanced at Fulk, her face pale, her mouth drawn. She wiped her eyes. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Between us, Alyson and I tried to make Fulk more comfortable. I kept whispering to him, saying how sorry I was as I fought back tears.
In no time at all, Warren was mounted and, with some coins in his purse and instructions ringing in his ears, riding towards town. Beton and Theo came in soon after and we managed to make a hurdle out of old sheets, roll Fulk onto it and drag him to the house. Great slews of mud marked the floor. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Fulk appeared to have lost the ability to move his limbs and the power of speech. Only his eyes were working, darting here and there, looking so terribly afeared. It broke my heart.
We’d not long managed to get him into bed, cover him with many blankets in an effort to warm him, when the doctor arrived.
Young for a medical man, Doctor Jameson was no-nonsense and so knowledgeable. As Fulk oft noted when he’d cause to use him, he didn’t waste time. He also charged reasonably.
I didn’t want to leave Fulk’s side, but Doctor Jameson insisted I drink some ale and get warm lest I too be struck down with illness. ‘Then who will look after your husband?’
‘He’s going to be alright then?’ My voice was filled with hope.
‘Alright? I’m not so certain. But he will live. For now.’
Apoplexy was the doctor’s diagnosis. A violent fit that rendered Fulk incapable of using his left arm, his legs or able to go to the necessarium. He could barely swallow and couldn’t speak, only grunt.
Each day the doctor came to check his progress. Fulk remained unchanged for over a month. Dependent, frustrated, sick, he refused to give up. His eyes would lock onto mine and somehow let me know that within the fleshy shell, he was still there.
If he was, so too would I be. I owed this man that and so much more.
God and the Fates must have decided our household had endured enough, for not long after Fulk was struck down, the rain ceased and, for a while, the sun shone. The fields were still muddy, but at least after a week or so, a plough only became stuck a few times. The brook and rivers receded to a manageable height, and the wheat we’d sown that hadn’t washed away began to grow.
The animals were released from the barn and the sheep were left to roam the pastures, greedily cropping the lush green grass. I ordered the men, who’d returned with the sunshine, to ensure the sheepfolds were erected on high ground to minimise the risk of the flock getting stuck or breaking their legs in the muddy patches that persisted in lower areas. A couple had lambed and the poor little critters had become mired, their mothers’ panicked bleating not heard until too late.
The cattle tended to linger where the foldcourses were placed, so moving the sheep kept them all reasonably safe.
Though I forwent weaving to tend my husband, Alyson kept working. For both her and Fulk’s sake, I had to ensure the rest of the household performed their duties. There’d been many tears and wailing when Fulk first fell ill. I allowed Theo, Beton, Milda, Sophie and Warren to express their sorrow then told them, if they had an excess of humours, they were best purged elsewhere. Mayhap, they thought me unfeeling, but they’d shed enough heavenly dew between them to float the ark. What I wanted my husband to hear and see – and Alyson agreed – was nothing but bright chatter, la
ughter and, if not smiling faces, at least not faces swollen with weeping.
Fulk was much loved. A gentle master, a kind and generous one, his incapacity was a great blow to all. The girls struggled to hide their sadness, but once they understood it was affecting their master, they made a stellar effort. I was proud and told them so.
Each day, I’d prop the bedroom door open and ensure light and fresh air entered. I had Theo and Beton move Fulk’s bed so that he could see and hear what was going on in the hall. Sitting beside him, my distaff and spindle twirling, I would greet the visitors – and there were many: Turbet, of course, but also Lord Hugh and his wife, and Master Merriman, who now walked with the aid of a stick, and folk from both Bath and the village. Some of the monks made a point of stopping by, as did two merchants from Venice who’d been buying our wool for years. I swear, it reminded me of London’s Cheap Street some days. I hadn’t realised how popular Fulk was. I would have basked in pleasure, only I couldn’t, as I was afeared.
Still, the doctor refused to give up, and if Doctor Jameson wouldn’t, then neither would I. Fulk’s left arm slowly regained some movement. I fed him a few times a day, mostly ale and bread soaked in warm milk, waving away the swarms of flies that had arrived with the cessation of rain, but even so, he rarely finished what I gave him, often choking. Despite my care (and I prayed not because of it) his frame began to shrink, his cheeks hollowed and his eyes, once so alert, began to lose their rain-washed clarity and sink into his skull.
What did I do? I laughed more loudly, spoke faster and more often, refusing to allow even a whisper of what I feared above all to be spoken. Except by Alyson. She shared my worries and would sometimes exchange a look that spoke of the helplessness we tried not to let overwhelm us.
Turbet Gerrish came most days and it was he who suggested we move Fulk’s bed into the hall so it would be easier not only for him to be a part of the daily routines, but for folk to pay their respects. He also said I should resume weaving.
