by Ann Lawrence
“Mistress le Gros was praying, my lord.” The priest patted Cristina’s hand. “I will leave you now. God will decide all.” He bowed to Durand and left.
Durand settled Felice in Cristina’s arms. She sat back on her heels and unlaced her gown. He paced. Behind him, Cristina whispered to Felice, and when he turned back, the child nursed.
He wished for an itinerant painter to capture this moment for him, the child at Cristina’s breast, the chapel candles bathing them both in a golden glow. It took his breath away. “You must face what will be this day.”
“What would you do if someone betrayed you?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “I would run him through.”
She nodded. “Men can do that—draw a sword and strike down those who harm them.”
Unless it was one you loved. Then you were powerless to lift a hand.
Pale light seeped through the chapel entrance. The bailey stirred as day broke.
She kissed Felice’s fingers. “She’s a sweet babe, my lord. I’ve been with Alice, and she and I have thought of a plan for when I must leave.”
“You may stay as long as you wish—”
She interrupted him, speaking quickly. “I cannot stay and we both know it. It would be a shame beyond any of my imagining!” She paused to take a deep breath. “Rose, the baker’s sister, had a babe yestereve. She’s an honorable woman much in need of a few extra pennies and has twice before taken a child to nurse along with her own. If you’ll allow it, my lord, I’ll stay with Felice until Rose is ready, mayhap a sennight; then I’ll go to my father in Norwich. I’ve enough pennies put by to make the journey.”
“As you wish, but you need not go,” he repeated.
Denial came with a quick shake of her bowed head.
She would go, and he would mourn the loss of her as he had not mourned Marion. If Simon was released, they would not—could not—remain either. They would be tainted by suspicion of theft. No one would buy from such a merchant.
He stood by until Felice was fed, then took her from Cristina’s arms, and placed her in the basket.
He held out his arms. Cristina came into them as if she belonged there. He enfolded her. He knew the answer, but still the words spilled from his lips. “Come to my bed, Cristina. Now. This moment. Just once before you go.”
A tremor ran through her body, but she said nothing.
“Just once, Cristina,” he whispered by her ear, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.
Her arms tightened at his waist, and he ached at the soft feel of her against him.
Then, with agonizing slowness, she slid from his arms until they stood connected only by the tips of their fingers. She broke away and picked up Felice. “Nay, my lord, I cannot. I have enough sins on my soul as ‘tis.”
* * * * *
Cristina did not have to wait long for Simon to be judged. The call came just before noon. She braved the hall, Alice trotting behind her with Felice. Whispers followed them as they made their way to where Lord Durand sat in judgment. She wanted to turn and run away to the deepest part of the forest, pull leaves over herself until she lay hidden in the dark silence.
Two priests, pens scratching across vellum, sat by Lord Durand’s side as he rendered decisions on the matters of his manor: a moved field marker, a lost pig, a man who contested damage caused by his mother’s cow.
The king wandered about the hall. Occasionally, he usurped a case, sitting down and listening intently, and rendering a decision. Lord Durand deferred to the king each time, except in the matter of the cow, and then Lord Durand’s words were sharp and the king bowed his head in acquiescence.
Cristina wished she could hear every word, but they spoke for themselves, not the audience. Did Lord Durand wield enough power to sway a king? Cristina did not know if the king was fair. Alice said he was subject to whims and fancies.
She could not think straight. She fastened her gaze on the great paintings that flanked the hearth. The queen and the other courtiers were gathered there to watch the proceedings. Cristina edged through the crowd to be where she could hear better, but felt heat run through her body as she realized she stood but a few feet from several ladies, Nona and Sabina among them. The young man upon whose arm Sabina leaned, looked too long and familiarly back at her.
Lady Sabina instructed Lady Nona in loud, condescending tones. “The king will listen to anyone’s case. Some folk might offer up to one hundred marks for such a privilege as having a king render their verdict, but he asks nothing.”
A shiver ran down Cristina’s spine. She desperately wanted Lord Durand to hear Simon’s case. If mercy was to be granted, it would not come from such a volatile man as King John.
Simon, his hands bound, ignored her though he came within a few feet of her as he was led before Lord Durand. His head was high, his manner uncowed.
“Simon le Gros,” Durand said. “You are accused of stealing Aelfric’s Nominum Herbarum from my keep.”
“I will speak for Master le Gros,” said a tall man in ecclesiastic robes who strode down the center of the hall.
“Father Laurentius!” the king cried. “You are here to plead this man’s case? Merchants have highborn lawyers these days!”
The crowd of onlookers laughed. Simon’s spine stiffened even more.
The priest bowed. “I’m brought here by Lord Durand, as he believes the merchant thinks himself ill-used. His lordship wished to render unto him all fairness in the law.”
Had Lord Durand brought this illustrious personage to aid Simon? Cristina looked down at her hands. How could she—they—ever thank him?
“Begin then, Laurentius,” the king said.
Father Laurentius stalked back and forth before the king, his robes flapping about his ankles. “I’ve spoken at length with Master le Gros and believe he has been most grievously harmed.”
The king waved his hand through the air. “Lawyers’ words. We have heard them before. All you speak for are grievously used.”
“I may have been called forth by Lord Durand, but it is against him I must speak,” the priest said, unperturbed by the interruption.
The king stroked his mustache, then turned to where Durand sat. “We’ll hear this case, de Marle. If Father Laurentius is to speak against you in some way, we think it best you step aside. And we much enjoy a good joust of wits with Laurentius.”
Durand bowed. “Sire, if I may, this case is important to me. It was my book taken, I grant you, but I’ve a great interest in the outcome—”
“Do you doubt we will fairly render a decision?” the king asked.
Cristina watched a vehement conversation take place between Lord Durand and the king, though she could not hear the words, merely the sharp tones. When the king stopped speaking, Lord Durand bowed his head and then moved his chair back.
What had Lord Durand wanted? Why had the king ordered him to withdraw? What, sweet Mother of God, was Simon going to say?
“My lord. Sire,” the priest began. “It is Simon le Gros’ position that Sir Luke contrives to have him hanged.”
Silence fell over the hall; then a quick buzz of conversation broke out. Cristina felt dizzy. The noise faded, then settled.
Nay, Simon, nay, she thought desperately. Do not shame me.
“In what way?” the king asked.
Lord Durand’s jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might crack.
“Sir Luke wishes to have Mistress le Gros for himself and therefore contrives to have Master le Gros hanged, thereby freeing her.”
An arm went about her waist. Lady Nona’s. “You look very ill, Cristina. Would you like to leave?” the lady whispered.
Cristina shook her head and forced herself to stand straighter and lift her chin. She was not ashamed of anything between herself and Luke. It was difficult, but she ignored the many eyes turned her way.
“We would hear more of this.” The king looked about the crowd. “Come forward, Sir Luke, and answer this charge.”
> Luke walked to the fore and stood by Simon. He, too, looked fiercely angry. Every inch of him was noble from his fine-boned face to his blue tunic trimmed in gold thread. Simon, whose hair hung in dirty hanks and who had straw sticking to his brown surcoat, looked far less than even a prosperous merchant.
The two men bowed to the king at the same time.
“Have you conspired to take this man’s wife?” King John asked Luke.
“Nay, sire,” Luke said with a shake of his head. “I have no taste for married women.” The man with Sabina made a rude noise in his throat.
The priest stalked back and forth between the table and Luke. “Is it not true the Aelfric was taken from your coffer?”
“Aye. But many visit the chamber,” Luke returned.
“They do? Who, if I may ask?” The priest tapped his finger on the table.
“Some…friends.”
“Name them.” The priest smiled. He had yellow teeth and a long nose.
“Sire,” Luke began. “I’ll happily do so, but privately.”
The king smiled as well. Snickers ran through the spectators. “Write the list down and we shall read it, privately.”
The agony of watching Luke transcribe his list nearly brought Cristina to her knees. He wrote and paused and wrote, tapped his chin and wrote, scratched his head and looked about the hall. Wrote and wrote, considered and wrote. The hall grew restless. Murmurs started. Lord Durand lifted his gaze from his brother to her.
She held his gaze, but read naught to aid her there. It would not do to hope. Sweat dripped down Simon’s cheek.
Someone began to laugh; others joined in. Luke glanced about the hall, then finally stopped writing. He slid the list to the king.
Lady Sabina leaned near her companion and whispered, “His mattress is surely worn to the ropes.”
Lady Nona whipped around and disappeared into the crowd. Without her support, Cristina suddenly felt naked of friendship. She was alone in a sea of men and women who cared naught of her fate or Simon’s.
The king silently read the list, and his brows arched almost to his hairline. “Sir Luke,” the king said. “We wish to have our physician examine you. We are humbled.”
The crowd burst into laughter. Luke merely shrugged.
Father Laurentius’ face suffused a deep red. “Sire. We beg a word.” The priest approached the king’s seat. A debate ensued, and finally the king nodded.
The priest moved to where Simon stood, his back stiff and his chin high. “I do not like to make a mockery of these proceedings. This man’s life is being considered.”
“Proceed, Laurentius. But make your point quickly. This delays a good day’s hunting,” the king said. Lord Durand’s only reaction was a nod to his brother.
The hall hushed and returned to its former sobriety.
“Have you ever seen Master le Gros in your counting room when it was not appropriate that he be there, my lord?” Laurentius asked.
“Nay,” Luke said.
“Do you lock the room or the coffer?”
Luke shook his head. “I do not.”
“Is a guard posted?”
“Nay. ‘Tis naught there but common records I might wish to consult from time to time—and a bed.” The crowd snickered. “Those records of great import are moved to another chamber that is kept locked and guarded,” he continued, as if no interruption had occurred.
The priest nodded. “I see. So this book was of little worth?”
Cristina saw Luke hesitate. “It was of worth to some people.”
“And anyone, Lord Durand included, could have come into the counting room and taken the book.”
“Put that way, aye, they could have.”
“Sire.” The priest waved Luke’s list of friends in the air. “I beg to have Master le Gros freed. As you can surely see, anyone could have taken the book.”
But the king shook his head. “Aye, taken it and handed it off to another such as Master le Gros. ‘Tis not enough. Bishop Dominic is dead and the book found in his guard’s possession. The attack greatly sickened the queen.” The king swiveled in his seat to Durand. “Is there more to be said? We understand the bishop’s rings have been found.”
Was nothing secret in this place? Cristina’s hopes sunk like a rock tossed in Portsmouth Harbor.
The king smiled. “Lady Sabina informed us.”
Lord Durand’s expression was stony, and she wondered where the man who had embraced her had gone. This man was cold and hard. He bowed to the king. “Two of the rings were found.”
Cristina’s stomach danced. How had Lady Sabina known of the rings? The man with Lady Sabina spoke without concern that she could hear his words. “The merchant is a thief, but will likely escape the hangman. One but needs a lawyer these days.”
Her stomach turned. Everyone around her believed Simon to be a thief. The tips of Simon’s ears reddened.
“The rings were found beneath the merchant’s pallet,” Durand said.
“Ah,” the king said.
Father Laurentius strode to the table. “Sire. Anyone might have placed the rings there. It was most likely done by the man sent to retrieve them. Luke de Marle’s man, I’ll wager.”
“My man,” Durand said.
“It is as I thought, sire.” Father Laurentius folded his arms. “‘Tis the same thing. One brother aids the other.”
“This is a serious charge, Laurentius,” the king said. “You accuse one of my most trusted barons.”
Cristina thought Lord Durand controlled himself with difficulty. A pulse beat at his temple.
Laurentius continued. “Many enter the merchant’s abode as enter Sir Luke’s counting room.”
The king turned to Simon. “Do you need parchment and pen to make your list?”
Simon and Laurentius put their heads together. Then Laurentius demanded the same accoutrements that had been brought to Luke. Simon’s hands were not released, and with awkwardness he wrote a few moments on the vellum.
The king read Simon’s list. His eyes swept the crowd. “Intriguing,” the king said, and Cristina could not imagine whose names were on the list.
“Sire,” Lord Durand said, after reading the list passed to him by the king, “it would seem many who had access to my counting room also had access to Simon’s abode.”
He said nothing more. Lord Durand’s lack of further accusation would help Simon greatly, and she knew it was a deliberate act. Was it for her he held his tongue?
The king folded the list. He slipped it into his tunic. Who, Cristina wondered, might be on the list? Then she realized it was not a list of those who purchased his wares that Simon had given; it was the name or names of his lovers, just as Luke’s was. Her humiliation was complete.
The king waved Lord Durand to his seat and then rose to face Simon. “There are many doubts surrounding the theft of this book and the bishop’s death. We’ve not the time to examine this matter with our usual care. We’ll trust in God to give us wisdom. You, Simon le Gros, will be put to the test.”
“He wants to hunt, he means,” whispered a man standing behind Cristina. She felt the weight of all eyes moving from her to Simon and back. She straightened her spine.
I will not weep, she vowed to herself. I will not faint.
Laurentius said something to Simon who gasped then choked it off. A visible shudder swept his body.
The priest gave a curt nod and then returned to face the king. “Sire, if any man is to be put to the test, it should be Sir Luke, who conspires to have this good merchant hanged.”
“Enough,” the king barked. “We have decided. The merchant will be tested.”
The hall fell silent.
“Let us see this woman so coveted Sir Luke wishes her husband dead,” the king said into the quiet.
All eyes turned to where she stood.
Lady Sabina nudged her with her elbow. “Go,” the lady urged her. “Stand by your husband.”
Sabina’s companion took Cristina’s arm
to lead her to the king. She wrenched from his grasp. “I can find my own way.”
Several men nearby snickered, and the man’s cheeks flushed an ugly red. The look he gave her at the deliberate snub chilled her. Why had she spoken so sharply? She needed everyone’s goodwill. Everyone’s.
Christina’s knees felt weak. As she went to Simon’s side, he gave her a look she knew well. She was afraid.
“Sire,” she said, and dropped into a deep curtsy.
“Rise, mistress. Are you the wife of this man?” the king asked.
“Aye, sire, I am.”
“Are you Sir Luke’s mistress?”
“Nay, sire. I am not.” She looked up at the king, then at Lord Durand. He met her gaze and she saw something there—pity, mayhap—and knew that Simon’s words had branded her as no others could have.
All would henceforth believe the Lord of Skirts had had her.
“As we stated, we can easily settle this,” the king said. “And much more swiftly than hearing pretty speeches. We have no time to waste on petty thieves. Put the man to the water test. If he’s innocent, so be it. But, if ‘tis as we hear, this man not only stole the book, but had his son deliver it hence into the bishop’s hands, he is equally guilty of leading his son to crime.” A gasp ran through the hall. “Therefore, ‘tis our judgment he should lose both hands if such is determined. We have heard enough. Let God decide.”
“My liege, I must protest—” the priest began, but the king interrupted him.
“You, a priest, do not believe in placing the question of guilt or innocence in God’s hands?”
The priest bowed. “Of course I believe in God’s will and judgment, but is there not doubt enough here, sire, that we should not be hasty in condemning this man?”
“We do not condemn him, Father Laurentius. We leave that to God.” He strode away, his queen on his arm.
Two sentries reached for Simon. The crowd behind Cristina surged forward, shoving her aside, rushing through the oak doors.
Lord Durand came around the table to where she stood. He placed himself between her and the crowd, but even he was buffeted by the throng. He snatched up her hand when she took a step after Simon. “Stay,” Durand said. “You don’t need to see this done.”
