by Rue Allyn
• • •
Robert felt a guilty leap of hope. ’Twas wrong of him to be glad that Juliana did not want the Scot. Worse was his pleasure at having more time with her. When had gladness overcome fear? He should be afraid he would weaken in the face of so much temptation. Yet, to his shame, he thought only of himself and his risks. Juliana would be giving up her dreams to help him fulfill a vow. ’Twas her duty to do so, whether she agreed or not. Still, duty did not change the sorrow she must feel at leaving the Beguine life. And for that, he felt profound regret. He knew the cost of shattered dreams. He also knew his thoughts to be those of a man crazed by conflicting desires. The greatest of those was Juliana’s love, and that he could never have.
“’Tis my dearest hope to give the Scotsman a disgust of me,” she continued. “Then I will be able to pursue our work in England. For I doubt Edward will let me leave the country again. He is not the type of person to easily release what he once holds.”
“If you must go to England, ’tis a good plan,” Anna agreed.
Did Juliana realize what she said? Yes, she was giving up a great deal by leaving the Beguines. However, crossing wills with Edward was dangerous, especially when a promise and political fortunes were involved. For her own good, he had to warn her. “So you intend to break your sworn oath, even though you go to England?” Robert asked.
“And if you do not travel as a Beguine, you may escape the notice of Basti’s spies,” continued the elder Beguine, as if Robert had not spoken.
Worse and worse. As a general threat, the Hand of God was bad enough. Since the priest now sought Juliana specifically, great danger lurked between Sicily and England. Glad I am that we travel by ship, but our departure cannot come soon enough.
Juliana looked from Anna to him. “I vowed only to travel to England. I never swore to accept the Scot in marriage.”
Robert dropped his arms to his sides to emphasize his protest. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say? She was right. “One of us is a fool,” he muttered and, quickly as his ankle would allow, stalked from the room too angry and worried to tolerate more debate.
In arguing with Sister Anna, he had acted like a child and had no excuse save that he wished to have Juliana for himself. He should apologize for being boorish and overbearing, but found he could not muster the will to return to the kitchen. Sister Anna had belittled his gender and called his honor in question, and Juliana had been so unimpressed with his flowers that she’d set them to die of thirst on the table while she tore off the petals. He wished he cared as little for Juliana as she cared for his stupid gift.
The unfortunate truth was that he cared too much for Lady Verault. And because he cared, he would do all in his power to protect her. With that protection in mind, now was the perfect time to check out the loose bricks in Juliana’s chamber while she was ensconced with her friend in the kitchen for hours. Robert had never met a pair of women who would not gab for hours on end.
He arrived at Juliana’s chamber door and knocked, just in case anyone was within. He received no response and opened the door, bolting it behind him.
In the dim light of the one window, he searched out the spot in the wall where he’d seen the loosened bricks. Kneeling, he worked his fingers into the empty spaces where mortar was missing and pulled a brick from the wall. A dry, musty smell emerged along with the brick. Peering through the small hole, he could see nothing but dark. Quickly he worked to remove the other loose bricks.
The opening was two or three hand spans in length, one hand high, and an arm’s length deep. Inside was an iron box. He extracted the box, and opened it to find letters written on fine vellum. Two of the letters bore the papal seal.
The Latin script of one papal letter was faded but clear enough to show it was very dangerous. The other letter was written in Greek and beyond Robert’s understanding. But the Latin letter described it as being an epistle of “Peter the Apostle” and explained the contents in detail.
Did Juliana realize the hazard these letters represented? The pope’s letter to Angelina was dangerous enough, for it threatened scandal, but the documents about the place of women in the priesthood would be heretical if not for the seals and stamps on the paper that clearly identified the source as Saint Peter himself.
Robert shuffled quickly through the remaining papers and discovered five fair copies on new vellum. Had Juliana made the copies, or had Angelina done the work before the fire at the beguinage? Either way, Juliana obviously knew of the missives and was in very serious trouble. Men would kill to keep these papers from being revealed, men like Basti most of all. Robert took the originals, aware they would be missed, but no one would know who had taken them. The copies he replaced in the box then returned all to the hole behind the wall. He restored the bricks to their earlier positions and did his best to clean up any dust and debris that might reveal someone had searched the area. He wedged a small, barely visible twig torn from the rushes between two bricks. It would fall to the floor if they were disturbed.
Checking the hallway to be certain he was not observed, he let himself out of the room. He would not have the bricks repaired. He would, however, enlist the help of the cook and the two new servants to watch carefully for who came and went from the chamber between now and his departure with Juliana. That would happen as soon as his ankle healed sufficiently for him to move without a crutch.
• • •
Preparations for departure kept Juliana excessively busy. She scarcely had time to show Anna where the letters were hidden. So when the elder Beguine offered to sew the copied vellum sheets into Juliana’s cloak, she accepted, grateful for the extra time to settle details with Berthild and Gretle. Those letters were now the sole link to her Beguine life, and eventually they, too, would be gone. Weeks of idleness aboard ship would give Juliana too much opportunity to ponder and no doubt regret her decisions.
’Twould be a long trip, in more ways than one, given Robert’s recent coldness. She had thought the barriers between them dismantled by the shared dangers in the escape from Fra Giovanni. She had felt closer to Robert during that time than to anyone before, including her Beguine sisters. She had even begun to look forward to this journey with him, despite the unpleasantness waiting her at its end. Yet he rebuffed her every attempt at companionship. Some burden troubled him, and as his friend, she would do everything she could to lift his spirits—as soon as she could come up with a means to bring him joy. She had yet to accomplish that.
The night before they were to leave Palermo, Juliana sat before the fire in the central room surrounded by her Beguine sisters. Each of them had presented her with a small gift intended to ease her journey.
“ . . . and do you recall when Juliana chased Basti from the church vestibule?” remarked a senior Beguine.
“Indeed,” Gretle said. “He was haranguing poor Sister Sarah for leaving her husband. Claimed she caused the man’s drunkenness. Sarah was about to yield to Basti’s threats when Juliana came to her defense. She told Sarah not to believe Basti’s lies, that her husband’s drunkenness was his own fault, not Sarah’s. Basti flew into a fury and tried to strike Juliana with his crook. Juliana wrested it away and beat his bony behind with it.”
Laughter chorused through the group.
“Saints, how he did howl as she chased him from the chapel with his own staff,” Gretle continued. “What did you ever do with the thing, Juliana?”
“I gave it to Sarah, so that she could remember to defend herself, if any man tried to berate her again.”
“And it worked, too,” Anna said. “Sarah has become much braver. She is the staunchest defender of our new Beguines.”
“Aye, the young ones need strong defenders. They are so vulnerable when they first find the courage to live freely,” Juliana stated.
“You mean free from men,” chuckled one of the younger women.
“Aye. Free from unrewarded drudgery, beatings, oppression, and undeserved guilt. Free to worshi
p God without the intervention of a man.” Anna’s voice rang strong and clear.
The women cheered and laughed. How long would it be until Juliana shared such spontaneous joy? Her future uncertain, she could only pray that when all was done she could live freely and in peace. Joy might be too much to ask for.
Chapter 10
Robert turned from the doorway where he had paused to observe them. Juliana shone like a beacon, glowing with the friendship and love of her sisters. The joy on her face had halted him in his tracks. He could not recall ever sharing an experience like the one he watched. He named only one man friend, though he shared his hunter of men status with five other knights errant. Certainly no group of men ever gathered to reminisce and wish him Godspeed, gifting him with memories and mementos as they did so.
Women. He shook his head. There was no understanding the creatures. ’Twas foolish for him to wish for the kind of nonsense she shared with the Beguines. Better by far to remain distant and on guard. That way, the shame living within him would never touch her. He would do all in his power never to give her cause to suffer. ’Twas why he had taken the original hidden letters; he wanted Juliana as far from them as possible. He’d hidden the pilfered missives in the secret compartment of a small chest now filled with caffe beans intended as a gift for Edward. The beans would go to Edward, but Robert would retrieve the letters first. He prayed that by the time he reached England, he would know what to do with such dangerous documents.
He allowed himself one last backward glance at her before forcing himself to leave. He had to consult with the watchers he’d set on Juliana’s room. Thus far Juliana was the only person to enter or leave the chamber.
In the kitchen he encountered Shabaka, preparing to serve the women a sweet.
“When you deliver that, remind Lady Juliana and the friends who see her to the harbor that we leave before sunrise.”
“I will. Do you retire now?”
“Aye.”
“Then good rest to you this night.”
“And you, Shabaka.”
But Robert knew his night would hold neither rest nor goodness. Only once in the years since his greatest sin had he spent a night without dreaming that he washed his own hands in the blood of a hundred women. That night had been spent in the wilderness with Juliana. He would never again feel that peace, for he would never again be in Juliana’s arms.
The next day he watched Juliana wave farewell to her friends from the ship’s rail. He prayed that despite the challenges she faced she would find happiness in her new life. As for himself, he would retire to Ravensmere and attempt to be the kind of man she believed him to be. Robert prayed he would see little of her during the voyage. Every time he got near her, he began to hope for the impossible. A permanent life with her could never happen. Their travels would last for weeks and force a proximity that he knew to be dangerous. He did not want to risk that nearness any more than need be.
That night, a sailor approached Robert with a request from the captain to attend him on the aft deck. Robert did not want to visit with the captain. Juliana would be on deck, and he wanted to be as far from her as possible. Nonetheless, he went. Refusing a captain’s direct request was not a good idea when the man controlled the ship you were on.
“Ah, Sir Robert. Thank you for joining us.” The man sat on a tun, surrounded by sailors and one or two of the other passengers. Juliana sat on the outside of the circle, an eager expression on her face. At the sight of her, Robert nearly turned heel and fled, but duty and the need to stay in the captain’s good graces forced him onward.
“You wished to see me, Captain?”
“Oui, sir. I hear that you have sung at Westminster for Edward Plantagenet.” The man was French, but the vessel sailed under an English flag.
“I have had that honor.” His eyes sought out Juliana. She beamed, as if an entire hoard of beggars had just been given new shoes. What trouble had she made for him now? He glared at her.
Her smile faltered the tiniest bit, and her brow lowered.
Instantly contrite, he plastered a grin on his face and bent his head to listen to the captain.
“Would it be too much then, sir, to ask that you perform for some humble sailors? The voyage can be a long one, and music helps to pass the time.”
Curse the wench; whether she knows it or not, my talent is an embarrassment. But because the request came from the captain, he couldn’t avoid singing.
She was too innocent to realize the hurt she caused, so Robert resigned himself to suffering. He masked his unhappiness with a flourished bow. “I would be honored, Captain, but have no instrument for accompaniment.”
He might yet escape the public torture of performance.
“Worry not, sir. I have my own lute.”
Robert grasped at a last slim excuse. “Then you must honor us yourself.”
“No, no, Sir Robert. I play indifferently, and I cannot sing at all.”
Robert recognized defeat when he saw it. “Then, of course, since you wish music, I will provide it.” He took the lute from the captain and sat on an unoccupied barrel, contemplating how best to bring joy to the crew when he wanted only to gnash his teeth and howl.
The idea came to him as he saw Juliana tapping her toes. “Captain, do others of your crew have instruments?”
“I gots a drum,” called one sailor.
“And me, I have a pipe,” another said.
“Then please get them and join me,” Robert requested. “I think your fellows might like to dance. With the captain’s permission, of course.”
The captain nodded.
The crew cheered.
As the only woman on board, courtesy compelled Juliana to dance with each and every one of the crew. Whenever she passed near Robert, she glowered at him over her smile.
He grinned back. But inwardly he grimaced. His suggestion had been ill considered. He was forced to watch her dance with man after man. ’Twas an object lesson, he reminded himself, as envy threatened to overcome good sense. Juliana was not and never would be his. He wasn’t certain why he could not get used to the idea.
The scene repeated itself the next night and the next, though without the dancing, as Juliana declined all invitations, claiming sore feet. Robert found some solace and no small distraction in the music. He owed her his thanks but considered it too risky to speak with her long enough to offer the words. If he sought her out to thank her, he might think it safe to seek her out for other things, and he knew such was not the case. ’Twas difficult to avoid a woman on a boat, yet thus far he had managed.
Several days into their voyage, Robert stood on the bridge with the captain.
“I mislike the look of those clouds.” The seaman gestured at the darkening sky. “If ’tis those clouds that drive this breeze before them, we could be in for a wicked storm.”
“What is to be done, if the storm does come upon us?”
“Ride it out and pray. We are too far from any land to make port before the storm could hit us.”
“Perhaps it will not.”
The captain shrugged. “Who can tell? I have seen too much in my years of sailing to be certain of anything the sea and the sky have to offer.
Robert felt a chill of dread go through him as the wind picked up.
• • •
Juliana reclined in a bouncing hammock below deck and tried to assure herself that the groans and shudders of the ship were normal. A while ago, Robert had come to her with news that a storm approached.
“The captain asks that you stay in the cabin until the worst is past. He does not want you washed overboard by heavy seas.”
She had agreed, but now—with the roar of the tempest in her ears—she wished she had not. ’Twas too dark and too close, and the swaying of the hammock upset her stomach. Up on deck, she would at least be able to breathe fresh air, even if she became drenched.
She fumbled her way out of the swinging bed and splashed to the floor shin-deep. Mother Mary. preserv
e us. Some brine in the cabins was normal but not so much. What would happen if the letters she carried drowned with her? Would the copies be enough to change church law? And what of Robert? Her ambivalence and confusion about the man seemed petty and unimportant now. She wanted desperately to see him before the ship succumbed to the sea. She wrestled the door open and slogged through the water. Lifting her sodden skirts, she climbed the stairs to the outer deck.
The wind threatened to blow her back into the bowels of the vessel. She clamped her fingers around the lintel post and clung as if her soul depended on her grip. Rain shrouded her vision, and she could barely make out the sailors scrabbling about the deck. Where was Robert?
In vain she searched the wooden surface for his large frame. Had he been tossed overboard? Was that why no one had told her the ship foundered? Nay, she would not believe it. Her eyes searched the deck once more, and she noticed that a large number of sailors stared up at the mast. Her gaze followed theirs, and she found Robert.
What was he doing up there? What did he know of sailing, even in fair weather? Why climb the mast in foul? Then she saw the other man, hanging in a tangle of rope and cloth from one of the crossbars that normally held the sail. The man would die if someone did not cut him loose. Obviously Robert had decided to do the job. The fool. The wonderful, heroic fool. Did he not realize that he could die in the effort to save the sailor? Of course he did, her heart told her. But in all the weeks she had known him, he had never put his own safety above that of another.
She held her breath. He had reached the sailor. Lightning glinted off the blade Robert used to sever the ropes. It was a slow, laborious process with wind and rain making the work more difficult. Then the man was free and reaching for Robert’s hand.
A huge wave struck the ship, pushing it onto its side. The vessel groaned and shuddered and water flooded her vision. Juliana fought for purchase on the slippery wood of the lintel, sure she was about to sprawl facedown on the boards when the ship thankfully righted. She shoved hair from her face. The mast was gone. For one agonizing moment, panic and sorrow stabbed deep. ’Twas not to be borne. Only by dint of will and the sure knowledge that others needed her did she resist the insane urge to join him and throw herself into the raging torrent.
