Stanrudde
The hour of Vespers,
The eve of Saint Agnes's Day, 1197
Johanna didn't dare move her gaze from the wall before her as Rob once more walked out of her life. Just as his last departure had shattered her, this leave-taking was doing the same. How could she drive him away when she needed him so?
"Nay, he betrayed me once, I will not let him hurt me again," she commanded herself too late. Her heart was already broken.
Closing her eyes, as if such a thing might stave off pain, she sought desperately for hate's shield. It was no more. Rob's claim of caring had torn open the ancient wound on her heart, allowing what festered for so long to flood forth.
Johanna buried her face in her hands. What sort of fool persisted in loving the man who had so cruelly used and discarded her? Her sort, it seemed.
"Nay!" she cried into her palms, "I will not love him! He abandoned me."
The same accusation that had once generated seething rancor now rang hollowly in her ears. She sighed as she realized Rob's rescue made it a lie. The Rob who risked his own life for her was not the sort of man who would have deserted her for coins. That was something Katel might do, but not Rob. Never her Rob. He loved her.
Once again the sweetness of his embrace filled her. This was followed by the glory of his mouth on hers, each kiss speaking of his love for her. Joy died, slaughtered by her own hard and hateful words. Rob loved her no more, she had seen to that.
Only then did Johanna understand how clever her father had been in forcing his daughter to wed where she did not wish to. Had Rob been killed or castrated, either fate his due for having bedded his master's daughter, she might have made a martyr of him and loved him still. Instead, Papa must have placed Rob with a new master—she knew not whom—then bequeathed his former apprentice a substantial amount of money to make it seem his daughter had been betrayed. Even then, her sire had not been convinced of his success in destroying their love. It had been against the possibility of their reunion that Papa had bound her children's inheritance to the requirement she never commit adultery.
That reminder set Katel's threat ringing again in her ears. Johanna started in fear. Mary save her, but Katel hated Rob even more than he despised his wife. It wasn't just her pain or those properties he meant to gain with his false tale of adultery, it was Rob's destruction.
She had to warn him!
Clutching her torn gowns closed, she hobbled to the alley's entrance and peered out into the muddy lane too late. The narrow street was deserted, brigands gone to ground, the poor retreating to their barren corners and rooms.
Johanna shuddered, helplessness washing over her. Every gruesome tale she'd heard of mutilation or murder done to those caught committing adultery came to vivid life within her. This was how Katel meant for them to die. Panic for them both set her heart to rattling in her chest.
"Mistress!" The call rang against the houses lining this narrow street from where the coopers' lane entered the chandlers' enclave.
She whirled and panic leapt to even greater heights. Theobald, along with one of their menservants, hurried toward her. No doubt alerted by the town guard Katel meant to fetch her home, where he'd hold her tight until she suffered the fate he wanted for her.
Once again, she sought for hate's shield, only to again find herself vulnerable and unprotected. The urge to run rose and died. She was sore hurt and filthy, her clothing was in tatters, her hair uncovered and unbound. Where could she go?
Theobald came to a halt before her, boldly eyeing the damage done her attire. Johanna's stomach turned at his leer, and she slid her hand upward along the tear until she was certain none of her was revealed to him. This protective motion stirred wicked pleasure to life in his eyes.
"I see some man finally dealt you the lesson you so deserved. I've heard bold bitches like you enjoy a forceful coupling. Am I right?"
As his cruel words brought back the thief’s attack in horrible detail, despair set its fist around her, dragging her down into hopelessness. This was a nightmare that would not end. Not only did her husband wish her dead; she'd been attacked and nearly raped. Worst of all, she'd destroyed the affection of the only man she ever loved. Somehow, to live beyond this day was more than she could imagine.
With a jerk of his head, Theobald beckoned forward the man who followed him. "Watt, take her to the master," he snarled as he turned and started toward the abbey's field. "I've got business to tend to."
In silence Johanna and Watt watched him until they could see him no longer. Only then did the servant remove his mantle and set that sturdy garment over his mistress's shoulders. Startled by this unexpected kindness, Johanna looked up at him as she concealed her ruined attire within its thick folds. There was nothing to see in Watt's plain face save the blank disinterest of a servant doing his duty.
He offered her his elbow, the continuing icy drizzle spotting his tunic's gray sleeve. She caught hold of his arm and took a step forward; he did not follow. Again, she looked up at him.
"I could turn my back, leaving you to go where you would, then say you had escaped me." His words were barely louder than a whisper.
Johanna eyed him in surprise. What he offered meant a beating and dismissal for himself, guaranteeing naught but starvation to look forward to after as he joined the ranks of the jobless. "What reason have you for aiding me?"
He shrugged, the motion anything but nonchalant. "It's but repayment for what you did for Aggie, Mistress. She wasn't like Leatrice, who went seeking her own downfall with both eyes opened. The master had no right to force Agnes, then discard her like yestermorn's garbage." His voice rose with the depth of his feeling. "There comes a time in a man's life when he sees his honor is more important than employment. I tell you there's more than me who'll be thanking you for what you did this day."
As kind as his offer was, Johanna shook her head. There was no escaping either Katel or the fate he planned for her. Not even her convent was beyond his reach. Despite her protests against leaving this morn, Theobald had pried her from its walls as easily as scooping soft butter from a dish simply by reminding the prioress that Johanna was yet Katel’s wife.
"I have nowhere else to go," she replied, her voice flat in hopelessness.
Watt gave a single nod in understanding and they strode forward together. By the time they entered the spice merchant's courtyard, Johanna was leaning heavily on his arm. She ached from head to toe, her weariness bone-deep. They and the gatekeeper were halfway across the tiny space when Katel charged out of the forebuilding.
"May God damn you as a slackard, what took you so long?" was the thanks Watt received for completing his chore. "Best you be grateful I am in a generous mood, else you'd not remain in my employ another day. Now, hie yourself inside."
As Watt and the other man swiftly and silently complied, Katel glanced at his wife and breathed sharply in dread. He snatched for her mantle's opening. Lifting one side of the garment, he hissed at her missing chain and what remained of her expensive gowns. He grabbed one of her hands, seeking the rings he demanded she wear in the pretense of the wealth he no longer owned. There was nothing for him to see but tattered leather and scraped fingers.
Katel dropped her hand. This loss of wealth was so devastating he was rendered momentarily beyond speech or movement. In the long moment of silence that followed, the wind howled around him, tearing fine strands of pale hair out from beneath his cap, flattening them against the brim with its ferocious breath.
Slowly, bright red color stained his neck. It seeped steadily upward, until his bloated face was suffused. Catching his wife by her arm, he dragged her toward the kitchen shed at the back of the courtyard, craving privacy in which to scream at her. As Johanna stumbled along beside him a touch of gallows humor woke beneath her paralyzing depression. It would hardly do for the neighbors to overhear Stanrudde's most loving husband abasing his wife.
The kitchen door slammed against the wall behind it as he shoved he
r into the usually crowded room. Johanna caught herself against the thick worktable. The chill gust of wind that accompanied her entry barely teased a forlorn crackle from the fire. She stared in shock at the hearth. The flames were dying, choked by the day's ashes. Impossible! The kitchen's fire was never allowed to die.
Johanna turned. Walls stripped of the foodstuffs and tools that usually cluttered their lengths stared blankly back at her. Where was Wymar, their cook, and his scullery lads? She caught her breath in understanding. Were the hungry really so great a threat that the cook and his supplies had to take refuge in the house?
Katel slammed the door. With the tiny windows shuttered the room plunged into smoky dimness. A single step brought them nose to nose. "You stupid cow," he shouted. "Do you realize what you've cost me?"
Exhaustion tightened its grip on Johanna as she prepared herself for what would surely be a long session of belittling. The only thing of which she was certain was that Katel would not strike her. Just as her father's will forced Johanna to remain virtuous, Papa had found a way to restrain Katel's native violence against her. Upon her complaint of abuse, those properties her husband so coveted, the ones whose rents now supported him, instantly ceded to Stanrudde's abbey.
"Thank God I will soon be rid of you! You cannot know how that prospect fills me with joy," he went on, his voice vicious and dark. "Only when I see you on your knees, pleading for your life, will I know the Cosmos has righted itself. It will be justice come at last when all that was stolen from me is restored."
Johanna bowed her head. Her eyes closed as she sought to shield herself from his venom. In the depths of her weariness, she forgot that she wore no wimple to hide her face from his view. Katel drew a sharp, startled breath.
His slap was so hard it spun her around and knocked her feet out from under her. Ears ringing, Johanna hit the beaten earth of the room's floor. Her mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as she bit her lip. Shifting onto her side, she braced her forearm beneath her. As she lifted herself just a little, she shook her head, not so much to clear her thoughts, but in dazed disbelief at what he'd done.
Her husband leaned over her, his face nigh on purple with rage. "May God damn you to hell for the arrogant woman you are! You will heed me when I speak to you!"
Johanna looked up at him from where she lay. "You hit me," she said, yet too stunned by his attack to own any other emotion.
Katel stiffened. Frantic worry leapt to life behind his rage as he only now realized what he'd done. His gaze shot to the reddened spot on her cheek as if to gauge the possibility of a mark. Worry disappeared, eased by the scratches and ripening bruises that already covered her face.
"Why not," he murmured. "The whole town will soon know you were mauled. There's no one to say who laid which bruises."
Shielded behind the damage already done her a new and wicked eagerness came to life in his eyes. His fists closed. Fear shot through Johanna. Once he started, years of hatred would goad him to continue until she was no more. When she was gone, he'd cry to the world it was injuries suffered in the rioters' attack that had killed her.
In her exhaustion and hopelessness, a strange calm took possession of her. Trapped in its unearthly grip, her soul opened, and she looked in disappointment upon the woman she had been.
What a selfish child she was. Only once in his life had Walter of Stanrudde denied his daughter her will: when he took Rob from her and forced her to marry Katel in his stead. Rather than accept this and find what happiness she could in her fate, she had chosen to tantrum, setting herself to hating everyone and everything connected with the life her father had given her. She sighed. The only one she hadn't hurt by this was the sire she'd childishly sought to punish.
"Beg," her husband demanded, ready to play out the last act of this black farce. "I would hear you beg for mercy."
At the sound of his voice she looked up at him, her revelation so shattering that she was stirred to speech. "Do you know what I am thinking, Katel?" In her strange state, her voice was quiet and considering. Stark surprise filled her husband's gaze. Of all the responses he'd expected his threat to generate this was not one of them.
"I am thinking our son deserved better than me, a dam more intent on hating and hurting all those around her than seeing to his needs. I find myself regretting my selfishness. In my determination to repay the world for the wrongs I perceived done me, I cheated myself of what was good in my life. I cheated Peter. And," she shook her head in regret, "I cheated you of what any good wife owes her marriage."
Katel blinked rapidly. His fists relaxed, and he took a step back from her. There might have been a softening in his eyes, but it was gone in the next instant, indeed, if it had ever existed. Katel tensed and she could nigh on see his thoughts spin as he sought for the traps that must surely be hidden in her words.
In that moment the bell at their gate clanged in anxious call. Not content with a single announcement, the ringer continued yanking upon the string until the jangling grew to an urgent clamor. "Master Katel, Master Katel! The council calls you to come with all haste. There is new trouble afoot!"
This call brought triumph's glow to Katel's eyes, banishing both the desire to hurt her and his worry over his wife's strange words. "Nay, you will not get the better of me," he hissed at her, "not now, only days before my vengeance is complete. In fact, I must thank you for distracting me. I want you whole and well so you might cry to the world of your innocence as you die. I think that will be what I most enjoy." He started to leave, only to pause and turn to her again. "How I will laugh as I watch you and that bastard die for what you have not done."
Still, the bell jangled. "Can anyone hear me?" the desperate messenger shouted.
With a snarl Katel turned and threw the kitchen's door wide. "Someone answer his call!" he shouted toward the house.
As he stormed out into the courtyard, he spilled his troubled emotions on those beneath him. "What is wrong with you witless idiots, or do you expect the master to open the gate like some lackey? I vow I'll flay you all and feed your flesh to the pigs. Now, come and bar the gate behind me."
Johanna yet lay where she had fallen. Although she commanded her body to rise, not a muscle responded. Instead, she relaxed, tucking her elbow beneath her head to cushion her face against the cold, hard floor. Her eyes closed.
She would rest for just a moment. Aye, and after she had regained her strength, she'd call someone to stoke the fire and heat water for a bath. But not just now. As she drifted into sleep, a quirk of amusement woke in her, no doubt brought on by hysteria. All in all, death might well be worth that absurd look on Katel's face.
Stanrudde
Late April, 1174
"Well now, don't they look fine indeed," Philip said as he lifted the browned and baked meat pasties from the kitchen's oven with his flat-bladed, long-handled wooden shovel.
Johanna awaited the arrival of the small, steaming pies in pride. She'd done it all, from chopping and cooking the filling, to the mixing and rolling of the crust, to crimping them shut. Well, most all of it. Philip wasn't as strict as Helewise about making her do everything herself. It was a shame Papa was missing her first moment of triumph as mistress of his house; he’d already departed on his summer travels, but this year he'd left Katel behind to tend to their local affairs.
Learning the household arts was now hers to do. Papa had been furious over Brother Mathias's attempt to beat her, vowing she needed no more than what Helewise could teach her. Despite this edict, Katel continued to pressure Papa about her schooling, now talking about a nearby convent and how the nuns were willing to educate merchants' daughters the same way they tutored noblewomen.
Philip turned and let the pies slip off the shovel onto the thick table. Johanna's heart sank. They didn't look fine at all. Only two of them looked like pasties, the others being any shape but half-moon. Papa's cook raised a brow and set a hand on his hip at her downcast expression.
"Come now, you cannot expec
t perfection on your first try. The next time you make them, they will be better,” he told her.
Johanna looked up at him in despairing frustration. The next time? She had to do this again? Being the mistress was entirely too much work, and she was tired of being expected to do the same task over and over again. Her spirits fell even further. Now that the cooking lesson was done, she no longer had a reason to avoid Helewise and the pile of mending the housekeeper had waiting for her. The rest of this day would be spent stitching, with Helewise making her remove what had been sloppily done.
"Here now," Philip continued, his tone consoling as he turned all the pies face up, "appearance is not all that’s important in the kitchen. There's flavor, as well. Give one to Tom and see if he doesn't think them as tasty as mine."
At the sound of his name the lackwit raised his head from the chickens he was plucking. His brow was furrowed in question.
"You must taste one of these and tell our little mistress the sort of job she's done, Tom," his father told him. Tom’s frown deepened at so important a task as sampling his mistress's handiwork then gave a single, short nod to show he was up to the rigors of it.
Juggling a hot pie, Johanna crossed to the hearth and offered it to him. Tom bit into it, the bite moving from side to side in his mouth as he waited for it to cool enough to taste. At last, he swallowed. "Good," he said with a single nod and set into the remainder of crust and meat.
A triumphant glow took hold of Johanna's heart, and she loosed a tiny squeal of pleasure. She could cook! Dancing back to the table, she tried the ugliest of them. It was not just savory, it was delicious.
"Philip, can I take these two to Helewise?" Since the bite in her mouth blurred her speech, she pointed out the perfect two in case he hadn't understood which ones.
A Love For All Seasons Page 12
