Father Thomas cleared his throat then, linking his hands in his lap. ‘There are several matters I wished to discuss with you, my lady. It is my understanding that this marriage to Sir Remy St Leger has come about in rather an unorthodox manner. I wish to ask you a question and…’ he paused and then spoke more firmly ‘…you must answer truthfully. Are you entering into this marriage of your own free will? You realise that a marriage cannot be valid if it is entered into without the full consent of either party.’
Beatrice stared at him for a moment. Then she nodded and said softly, ‘I am willing, Father.’
‘Good, good.’ Father Thomas nodded, his glance straying to his abandoned penmanship and clearly anxious to hurry on with his agenda. ‘Now, it is my duty to remind you that marriage is a holy sacrament. It is binding for both your lifetimes. The Church, and especially the teachings of St Augustine, believe that a marriage blessed before God is a spiritual union and should not be sullied by—’ he coughed and avoided her wide eyes ‘—by carnal lust. I have written out for you the days when you should avoid relations with your husband.’
He handed to Beatrice a small piece of parchment and she read, with dismay and wonder, the rather long list. It included Sundays, feast days, the Lenten seasons of Easter, Pentecost and Christmas, before receiving communion, while doing penance, during the time when she had her monthly flow, when she was nursing a baby, and not during daylight. Most amazingly of all, Beatrice thought, she was not to have relations with her husband on her wedding night. Stunned by this list, she wondered when it was that married couples were allowed to be intimate and how on earth anyone managed to become with child! She folded the piece of paper and laid it upon her lap.
‘I must also tell you that the holy union of marriage was encouraged by the church to prevent excessive lust. You must endeavour to be always faithful to each other and you should not indulge in relations for any reason other than procreation.’
Beatrice felt her cheeks burning with heat. This very explicit and detailed lecture was not what she had been expecting, and she glanced anxiously towards the door, hoping for an escape.
‘And yet so saying,’ continued Father Thomas, ‘you are both under an obligation to also fulfil your marital debt.’
Beatrice stared at him in confusion.
‘The bond of marriage,’ explained Father Thomas, ‘affords you rights over your husband, just as he has over his wife, as far as the marital bed is concerned. You are just as en d to demand that your husband fulfil his duties in attending to your needs and desires, as you are obligated in attending to his. For though the Church does not encourage carnal lust, it is better for it to be fulfilled within the bonds of holy matrimony than, well, outside it. Do you understand?’
Beatrice nodded, gulped, and suppressed the riot of thoughts that had suddenly stampeded through her mind. Her needs and desires? She had never considered their existence before!
‘Do you have any questions, my lady?’
Meekly Beatrice shook her head. She had many questions but none that she had the courage to voice out loud! And besides, what would be the point, for surely theirs would be a marriage in name only?
‘Excellent!’ Father Thomas was delighted that the matter had been dealt with so speedily, and he rose from his chair, ushering Beatrice to the door. ‘Be so kind as to send Sir Remy to me, please, my lady. I will say to him exactly what I have said to you.’
‘Indeed?’ croaked Beatrice, clutching her piece of paper. ‘Will he have a list like mine?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Father Thomas was very pleased with her demure and pious response to a lecture that quite often brought forth a torrent of angry questions.
‘Reading is not his strongest skill, Father,’ she warned.
‘Have no fear, I shall read it out for him.’ He patted her shoulder, ‘I wish you every joy in your marriage, Lady Beatrice, and look forward to seeing you on the steps of the chapel on Midsummer’s Eve.’
Remy rose from his chair and paced the room for a moment. Then he turned to Father Thomas and exclaimed, ‘This list is ridiculous!’ He threw it down on the floor. ‘When God created Adam and Eve he made them naked and in such a way that they could enjoy each other! As much as they liked, whenever they liked!’
Father Thomas sighed. This was not going as well as it had with Lady Beatrice, he feared. ‘I cannot deny that. But we have advanced since the Garden of Eden, Sir Remy, and now we have certain rules by which we live, for our own good.’
Remy swore then, beneath his breath. He leaned towards Father Thomas and demanded in a tetchy tone, ‘Then tell me exactly when I am allowed to have “relations” with my wife? By God’s teeth, the whole thing is absurd!’
Father Thomas restrained his own reaction to the young man’s temper and asked, with as much patience as he could muster, ‘Sir Remy, have you never practised abstinence? It may do your soul some good.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my soul!’
‘Please, sit down. There’s no point getting so upset. It is only a guideline, for your spiritual welfare. If you choose not to follow it, and no doubt that would not be unusual given the nature of man, then that is your own choice.’
Remy flung himself down in his chair. ‘Have you any idea how hard it has been to find favour with Beatrice? And now this—’ he flung his hand at the offensive list discarded upon the stone floor ‘—this will no doubt ensure that I never lay a finger on her. For she is pious, you know, she wanted to be a nun.’
‘I know.’ Father Thomas smiled, for he had been chaplain at Castle Ashton since the birth of Lord Henry thirty-two summers ago.
‘Just when I thought her heart had melted and that all would be well.’ Remy fell into a brooding silence then. After a few moments, he suddenly sat up right and asked, ‘Why must we wait three days after the wedding to have intercourse?’
‘Because you have received the holy sacrament of communion. It is out of respect for God that you wait.’
Remy grunted, none too pleased or convinced. And then another thought occurred to him and he asked, ‘On what grounds could a marriage be declared invalid and annulled?’
‘Well, if either party were already married. Are you, Sir Remy?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Already married. Do you have a wife?’
‘Nay! Of course not.’ Remy scowled, his chin propped upon one hand.
‘Well, then, if the marriage was entered into without willing consent from either party.’
Remy was silent then, uncertain whether Beatrice was truly willing or not.
Father Thomas was by now beginning to feel a little bewildered. ‘Might I ask why you would want to annul a marriage that has not yet taken place? And to a woman you obviously love.’
‘Love!’ snorted Remy. ‘That tiny word does not even begin to describe how I feel. What else?’
‘Well, if the marriage was not consummated because you were impotent…’ the priest looked the virile, muscular knight over with a doubtful glance ‘…or if your wife could not physically accommodate you to enable it to be consummated. Of course, on such grounds the guilty party would not be allowed to remarry, for fear of casting such a situation upon a second spouse.’
Another long silence ensued. Then Remy said slowly, ‘Father, if I tell you something now it would be in confidence, would it not?’
‘You wish to make a confession?’
‘Aye. Of sorts.’
‘Then I am bound by holy vows never to reveal to others what you tell me.’
‘Then I confess to you that Beatrice does not want me for her husband, but her brother has forced her into the marriage so that the family will not lose Hepple Hill. We have agreed that the marriage will not be consummated and that an annulment will be applied for as soon as the thirty days of her inheritance have passed.’
Father Thomas frowned. ‘Is that what she told you? She will not allow the marriage to be consummated?’
‘Well…’ Remy shrugged
‘…not in so many words.’
‘Then mayhap it will not be so. Women are strange creatures, Sir Remy, and my advice would be to take every aye and every nay with a pinch of salt. Lady Beatrice does not strike me as an avaricious type, more interested in wealth than in love, and she is certainly no timid maid unable to speak her own mind. If she was so determined not to marry you, then she would not do so. It seems to me that her heart is very much yours.’
Remy sighed heavily. ‘Her heart is a fortress, Father. One that I have laid siege to with every weapon in my possession. To no effect.’
With raised eyebrows Father Thomas enquired, ‘With every weapon, Sir Remy?’
He coloured and cleared his throat. ‘Well, not that. It is certainly easier to acquire a wife by rape, but distasteful.’
‘For whom?’
‘For us both!’
‘I am glad that you are aware of that truth. I have known Lady Beatrice since she was a babe and I have a great fondness for her. She has suffered such great hurt over the years and borne it all with grace and dignity. It is time she knew some happiness, and I trust that you will be patient and diligent in giving it to her. It must be obvious to you, Sir Remy, that as a battle-hardened warrior your physical strength is far greater than hers. I beg that in the heat of your passion you will treat her with gentleness. Now…’ Father Thomas rose from his chair and escorted Remy to the door, along the way retrieving the all-important list and pressing it into Remy’s hand. His parting words were much the same as those he had given to Beatrice. ‘I will see you on Midsummer’s Eve upon the steps of the chapel. Fare thee well.’
On the evening before Beatrice’s wedding day all the ladies met in the solar, while the men kept to the hall, each to celebrate the couple’s last night of maidenhood and bachelorhood in their own way. Aunt Margaret had given orders to her husband to ensure that the bridegroom did not become overly drunk and unable to rise to his feet on the morrow. Nor to fall foul to any pranks that might jeopardise his attendance, which, in her experience, had happened to an unfortunate cousin in Norfolk some years ago—the bridegroom had drowned in the moat, having been dared to swim across it naked and was too drunk to remember that he could not swim.
Since her meeting with the chaplain, Beatrice had been pensive, and it had not gone unnoticed. Her aunt and her cousin, other ladies who were relatives, friends and neighbours, now tried to put her in good cheer for the great day fast approaching. The door was barred, food was spread out on a table, cushions on the floor and it was an occasion to indulge in gossip and sweetmeats, advice on how Beatrice should do her hair and what flowers to wear and what to say to her guests after the ceremony.
Gradually, as the evening wore on and the wine loosened tongues, the talk turned to more important matters, namely what Beatrice might expect on her wedding night. However, Beatrice rose then and flounced away, clearly annoyed and discomforted. She hastened to the door, saying that she had the headache and wished to retire, and whilst some whispered spiteful comments that she was too old to appreciate a man like Remy St Leger, others were more tender in their concern.
Aunt Margaret signalled for Joanna to remain with the other women, when she would have followed, and pursued Beatrice to her bedchamber. There she found her niece sobbing into her pillow. Gently, Aunt Margaret put her arms around Beatrice and drew her into a comforting embrace, stroking back tendrils of hair from her brow and asking quietly, ‘What is it you fear, Beatrice?’
‘Naught!’
‘Come now, ‘tis obvious that there is much troubling you.’
‘Nay, Aunt, let me be. It is truly naught.’
Her aunt sighed, but persisted, knowing full well the family trait of stubbornness. ‘Is there some vice about Sir Remy that disturbs you?’
‘Nay, indeed! He is all that is good. Why, if anything, he is too good, too handsome!’
Aunt Margaret began to have an inkling then of the problem, and probed carefully. ‘Is it that you fear he will hurt you? It is true he is tall and strong and heavy with muscle, but he is a courteous knight, and I am sure he has learned to have good manners in his relations with a lady, especially his very own wife.’ Then, in the absence of her departed mother, Aunt Margaret decided to speak more frankly, for which she was renowned. ‘There may be some pain, for you are, after all, a virgin. But the pain will not last longer than a moment or two.’
Beatrice sniffed, and calmed her sobs, whispering, ‘It is not that. I do not fear him as a man.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Oh, Aunt, look at me! I am no young maid, firm and plump! And I have scars from the Welsh arrows! They are hideous. What will he think if he touches me?’
‘If?’
Beatrice bit her lip. She must not reveal their secret pact. It seemed a moot point, however, as she doubted whether either one of them intended to keep it. Or was she mistaken? She cried out in anguish then, ‘Half of me wishes to run far away from him and never let him near, and the other half wishes to have him take me, possess me, love me, just as much and as hard as he can! I know not which half is the more shameful, nor which half to give!’
‘There is no shame in love,’ said Aunt Margaret gently. Her eyes fell upon the folded parchment on a coffer, which she had noticed Beatrice reading and re-reading often in the past day. She asked shrewdly, ‘What did Father Thomas say to you yesterday?’
‘Oh, I expect it was his usual speech for brides and bridegrooms, but it was disheartening. I did not know that there were so many restrictions upon—’ Beatrice blushed fiercely ‘—physical relations.’
‘Only in the mind of a priest.’ Aunt Margaret picked up the paper and read it, then she folded it up and placed it back on the coffer, ‘If you want my advice, I would put this list away somewhere, and only refer to it when it suits your purpose.’
Beatrice looked at her aunt with some confusion. ‘And when would that be?’
Her aunt smiled, and wiped her tears with her sleeve. ‘That you will learn for yourself, my child. Now,’ she spoke briskly, ‘I want you to stop all this nonsense. Tomorrow is your wedding day and God knows we have waited long enough for it. You must sleep now, so that you will awaken in the morning fresh and glowing with the radiance of a beautiful bride. And,’ she raised her voice and overruled Beatrice’s protest ‘…I want you to ask yourself a serious question. Would a handsome young knight like Remy St Leger fall in love with you if you were not the beautiful and intelligent woman that you are?’
Down in the hall the antics of the men were far less restrained. Heavy drinking had been indulged in since supper time and the roar of noise as men laughed, sang, shouted at one another and danced with several exotic women brought in for the occasion—jingling with brass bangles and clad in scanty veils that revealed more brown flesh than they covered—was enough to keep Father Thomas locked in his own chamber and the pageboys packed off to the armoury.
Remy, however, sat at a table with his head propped in one hand and glumly staring into his goblet of wine. Several attempts to get him to dance with one of the mysterious Moorish girls failed and Sir Giles rallied the other knights to cheer him out of his misery.
‘Why so glum?’ demanded Sir Giles as he sat himself down beside Remy and waved his hand about the hall. ‘All this is in your honour, and yet you do not appreciate it.’
Remy sighed. ‘I have received bad news.’
‘Indeed?’ Sir Giles sobered, concerned now that the wedding day was about to be ruined. ‘From home?’
‘Nay. From Father Thomas.’ Remy held up the crumpled sheet of parchment he had been given. ‘I am about to be married to the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on, have desired her for so long that even my bones ache, but it seems that once we are married there are only two or three days in the year when I might actually bed her!’
For a moment Sir Giles stared at him, at the list, and then he began to laugh, quietly at first, and then so loud and so uproariously he almost fell off the bench.
It was not long before others demanded to know the joke and when, through fits and gasps and splutters of mirth, Sir Giles acquainted them with Remy’s troubles, the entire hall began to rock with laughter.
Then the parchment list was purloined and a great ceremony was made of its burning, which resulted in several scorched fingers. Lord Robert and Sir Giles both sat themselves down and convinced Remy that no one took much notice of the Augustine teachings.
‘Indeed,’ cried Lord Robert heartily above the drunken revelries, ‘if men obeyed the teachings of the Church there would scarce be enough babes born to populate a tavern, let alone a country. Cheer up, old son, we—’ he waved his arm magnanimously around the hall ‘—us, this grand company of lords and warriors, we hereby give you permission to take your wife as often as you like!’
There were hearty cheers to this, and Remy began to thaw. He allowed his goblet to be refilled, little knowing that it was spiked with aquavit. He went so far as to enjoy watching the acrobats and the jugglers and the dancing girls, but drew the line as a silky veil slid around his neck and a pair of voluptuous, dusky-skinned breasts jiggled before his eyes. He pushed the girl away and with a throaty laugh she leapt up on to the table, her long, shapely legs twisting and turning in a dance designed to lure and entice.
A dozen men hammered their fists on the table, encouraging the dancer, but to no avail. Remy was not tempted by her. In the end, as she finished her dance in a frenzy of whirling arms and legs and gossamer veils, it was Sir Cedric that yielded to temptation and carried the girl off over his shoulder to a dark corner in the bailey.
Meanwhile Sir Richard Blackthorn had gathered together a small group and they whispered out of earshot of the guest of honour, planning their next round of bedevilment certain to shake Remy out of his iron mask of self-control. But first they needed him drunk and to this end they plied him with more wine, liberally laced with more aquavit. It took a while, but eventually Remy began to join in with the antics and frolics.
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