by June Francis
*
Joan, who had lain wide-eyed in the darkness, shut her eyes quickly. She had slept only fitfully since Philip Meriet had raped her, trembling each time a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. But with Felicia to keep her company, Joan had managed to fall asleep but then the hooting of an owl had roused her. After the first heart-stopping moment she had begun to relax, then she had caught the murmur of voices outside—one softly feminine whom she had recognised as belonging to her cousin. Anger, hot and uncontrollable, surged through her slender frame. Flissie had lied to her! Master Edmund was her lover! Why was life so unjust? She had no one to care for her and it was unlikely that any man would want her now she was no longer a virgin. Tears oozed from beneath her eyelashes. Even as Philip had almost suffocated her to force her into submission, he had muttered Felicia’s name against her throat. Joan yearned for a man who would cherish and protect her and she was filled with grief and envy and wanted revenge for her sufferings.
*
Felicia woke to the sun slanting on her face. She sat up slowly, wondering what had woken her and gazed about her for Joan, only to realise her cousin was not there. Felicia wasted no time getting up and going over to the doorway and looking outside. The stunted outline of her house showed stark against rays of splintered light through cream, apricot and gold-edged clouds. What a beautiful morning! It was hard to believe that Meriet Manor House was no more and that somewhere her countrymen were preparing for battle. Her heart sank. Where was Edmund and Dickon? Then she saw their horses cropping the grass and realised they could not be far away.
For several moments she relived the emotions Edmund had roused within her when he kissed and caressed her, and she yearned to repeat the experience. Yet he had called her a witch! But surely he didn’t really believe that she had bewitched him? She needed to see him right now, so she could read his expression and know what he felt towards her. But where was he—and where was Joan? The thought of her cousin depressed her. It was difficult to imagine that Joan would ever be her old self again. She had been so warm-hearted and vivaciousness but Philip appeared to have destroyed those traits within her.
Now guilt ridden Felicia went back inside the keep, to put on her brown surcote as she had naught else to wear. She ran down the steps back out into the sunshine and walked through the ruins of her house and into the garden to reach the well. Swiftly she turned the handle and ran the bucket down until she heard the splash of water. She let the pail run a little further, then brought it up.
It was as Felicia cupped her hands and took a drink that she felt as though she were being watched, but a slow glance about her revealed no one. All was quiet except for the wind stropping the leaves on the trees. She put her hands into the pail again and rinsed her face with the cold clear water, her nerves taut, her ears pricked for the sound of footsteps, but none came. Yet still she had an eerie sense of not being alone. She dabbed her face with the end of her veil and then turned and ran through the herb garden and the remains of the house until breathlessly she came to the foot of the steps leading to the tower.
Joan suddenly appeared in the doorway, staring down at her. ‘Is there anything to eat? I’m hungry.’ She had braided her barley-white hair and washed her face.
‘There was plenty of meat left. I wrapped it in a napkin and put it in a crock.’ Felicia smiled up at her, despite her cousin continued to stare unblinkingly down into her face.
‘You know what men are like. They might have eaten it all,’ said Joan tartly.
‘And they might not have.’ Felicia’s voice rose. ‘Joan, we need Edmund and Dickon and their horses. Philip took ours. I understand your anxiety, but do be reasonable.’ She took one of Joan’s hands, stroking the back of it soothingly. ‘Love, you said that you do not want to stay here, so you have to trust them.’
Joan withdrew her hand from Felicia’s grasp. ‘I have been thinking of going into a nunnery,’ she muttered. ‘There is nothing for me now for no decent man would have me.’
‘Such a life would not suit you! You have never been the least bit religious,’ said Felicia, dismayed.
‘I did at least believe there was a God of justice. If I bear a child to that devil, I shall kill myself,’ she cried, surprising Felicia by flinging her arms around her. ‘You will not leave me, will you? Or cast me off, Flissie?’ She buried her head against Felicia’s shoulder.
‘Of course not.’ She smoothed a curl from Joan’s forehead. ‘Only do not talk of killing yourself, for I cannot bear it.’
‘Even if you marry, Flissie?’ insisted Joan. ‘Promise me that you will not be rid of me!’
Felicia was startled. ‘I have made no mention of marriage!’
‘Philip wants to wed you and said he would kill you if you married someone else. He is evil, Flissie! Maybe he is in league with the devil himself.’ She stared at Felicia from frightened eyes.
Some of Joan’s fear seemed to transport itself to Felicia. Dear God, what if it were true, and Philip had spies out looking for her? An irrational terror had her by the throat, so that she was unaware of approaching footsteps. Only when Edmund spoke did she turn and look at him.
‘What is it? What is wrong?’ he said urgently. ‘You look frightened. Has anyone been here during our absence?’
Her fear ebbed and she told herself that she was worrying unnecessarily. Philip was miles away and unlikely to be able to seek her out for an age. He could even be slain in a battle. A sigh escaped her. ‘No! I was just remembering the past and felt a little sad.’
‘That is to be expected in the circumstances.’ Edmund took her hand and squeezed it gently before helping her to rise. ‘I have brought newly-baked bread from Ralph’s wife. I thought we might need extra for the journey.’
‘Have you and Dickon broken your fast?’ asked Felicia, aware of the strength in his fingers.
Dickon shook his head. ‘We had a dip in the river.’ He shivered, and rolled his eyes expressively. ‘It was Edmund’s idea. He has this liking for water.’
Edmund smiled faintly and released Felicia’s hand. ‘Let us eat now, and be on our way before the sun rises much higher.’
They ate in silence, and it was but a quarter of an hour before they set off, up through the wooded hills. The air had lost its coolness for the sun was already climbing the sky. They travelled for some miles, before Edmund suggested they paused and had some of the bread and slaked their thirst.
‘Is the monastery much further?’ asked Felicia.
‘Another hour, and we should reach the Malvern hills. You are not too tired, Felicia?’ He sounded truly concerned.
‘I am not too tired,’ she reassured him, warmed by the tone of his voice.
She glanced at Joan, who sat a few feet away, her arms clasped about her hunched-up knees. Dickon sat a few yards from her, his feet dangling over an outcrop of rock into thin air. Every now and again Felicia had noticed that, while they ate, his eyes would go to her cousin’s strained face.
‘You are worrying about your cousin?’ murmured Edmund.
She said in a low voice, ‘She has mentioned entering a nunnery and I deem that would be a mistake.’
‘You must not feel guilty,’ he said, pulling a blade of grass through his fingers.
‘I cannot help but do so,’ she blurted out. ‘Not when she says that she will kill herself if she were to discover that she was with child by Philip.’
‘Even so you are not to responsible for his behaviour.’ He frowned. ‘You must not allow her to lay the blame on your shoulders! It would be a mistake to do so.’
Felicia knew he was right but she could understand her cousin’s reasoning. ‘She believes Philip to be in league with the devil.’
‘She is probably not the first person to think that,’ said Edmund. ‘But she is also not in her right mind.’
Felicia sighed. ‘She is terrified I will cast her off.’
‘Surely she knows you better than that?’
‘I would like to
believe so but fear does strange things to people.’
‘I would not argue but even so…’ Edmund’s voice trailed off as Dickon turned towards him and asked when would they be moving on.
After that there was no chance to discuss Joan and Philip further.
Felicia was beginning to feel weary when Edmund eventually pointed ahead to a huddle of buildings. The horses quickened their pace as though they, too, knew that journey’s end was in sight for that day. Within a short time they were splashing through a ford near some stepping-stones and came to a gatehouse. A porter emerged as they approached, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his black habit. He had a small round head with greying hair about his tonsure. As his eyes rested on Edmund, his expression lightened.
‘Well met, Master Edmund! It is good to see you.’
‘And I you, Brother Thomas, and looking as healthy as ever. The lord abbot, how is he?’
‘Well, but the cellarer is ill and so your uncle is finding the burden of responsibility lying a little heavier on his shoulders.’
Edmund grimaced. ‘It seems I have come at an inconvenient time?’
The monk shook his head. ‘It will do him good to see you. And the infirmarer will be glad of your advice concerning what ails the cellarer.’
‘Then I must make time to visit him. First, I shall take the ladies to the guest hall. You remember Dickon?’
Brother Thomas nodded and gave Edmund’s friend a long-suffering look.
‘Hail and well-met, Brother Thomas,’ said Dickon, grinning. ‘I’ll never forget my time here learning my letters and music.’
Felicia exchanged looks with Joan and winked at her. Her cousin pulled a face.
The monk stepped back to make room for the horses to pass beneath the stone archway that led to the great court. They made their way to the lodging-house where Edmund had word with the hospitaller before turning to the others. A brother will show you the way to your chambers. I shall join you after I have spoken with my uncle.’
‘You will return before supper?’ asked Felicia.
He nodded before making his way through a doorway and out into the sunlight. He crossed the great court and entered a passage that led to the cloisters. His uncle Walter was most likely in the scriptorium. After pausing to speak to a monk at the gate, he was allowed through. His feet rang loudly on the stone tiles, and he listened intently before opening a door.
His uncle looked up from the page in front of him and his thin, rather austere face lit up. ‘My boy, what brings you here? It is good to see you.’
‘I have matters of importance to discuss with you,’ said Edmund.
Walter’s snowy brows drew together. ‘Let us walk in the garden,’ he suggested.
Edmund followed him from the room, walking silently by his side until they came to the fish-ponds. It had been a favoured place all those years ago when he had stayed here. He gazed down at the grey-green shadowy shapes gliding through the waters.
‘What is it, Edmund?’
Edmund ceased his contemplation of the water. ‘Mother is dead,’ he murmured, only a slight blurring of the words betraying his emotion. ‘So are my father, Sir Gervaise, and my half-brothers.’
Walter’s eyes dilated with shock and he placed a hand on Edmund’s arm. ‘I grieve for you, my son. What pestilence took them off?’
‘It was no plague or fever, unless you call Philip Meriet such.’ Slowly at first and then more rapidly, he began to tell his uncle what had happened. By the time he had concluded his tale, his eyes were the cold grey that Felicia had seen that first day. ‘Whether Philip Meriet knew of my mother’s relationship with my father and who I was, I do not know—but he intended to kill us both. Before she died Mother told me to come to you. So here I am.’ Edmund fell silent, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead. ‘I am late in the coming and have a confession to make before you and God,’ he added unevenly.
His uncle stared at him with compassion. They had been walking across the shaven lawns all the time Edmund had been talking, but now they came to a halt.
‘You sought revenge? That is natural, my son. Although it would have been best to leave it to God. Do you know why your mother told you to come to me?’
‘No. She was not lucid enough during her final days. I know that I am Sir Gervaise’s bastard, and I believe his only remaining blood kin. So tell me, Uncle Walter, am I right to hope that his lands will come to me?’
Walter placed his hand on Edmund’s arm. ‘Your birth was a well kept secret but you are very like your father in appearance. It is possible that Philip Meriet might have guessed your identity and for that reason alone your life would be in danger.’
‘He made no sign of recognition when I played the part of a serving man.’
Walter nodded. ‘Let us go back to my lodgings. I have a document I have kept these last twenty-six years.’
Edmund’s spirits lifted.
They retraced their steps to the abbot’s lodgings. Walter poured out wine made from the monastery’s own vines before turning to the great carved chest that stood in the corner of the shady room. It took some time to find what he was seeking, but at last he came over to Edmund with the scroll in his hand. Edmund took the document, turning it over and fingering its seal. With the knife from his girdle he prised it off, conscious of his uncle’s watchful eyes upon his face as he read the Latin carefully. When he had finished, he sighed with relief before lifting his goblet of wine and draining the cup.
‘What are you going to do?’ Walter filled their goblets again.
Edmund did not immediately reply, but walked over to the window and gazed out at the great court. ‘It is unlikely that I can gain my lands without help, so I mean to seek out the Lord Edward.’ He tapped his fingers against the goblet’s rim. ‘You have heard the news?’
‘Of his escape while a prisoner at Hereford? Aye. It is rumoured that the young Earl of Gloucester was behind it. His brother was one of Edward’s guards.’
Edmund’s eyes blazed, and he grasped the edge of the table. ‘But Gloucester was on the Montfort’s side a year ago! If he has gone over to the prince, he will take many more with him.’
‘He travelled with the Lord Edward to Matilda de Braose’s castle at Ludlow.’
‘Mistress Felicia’s steward, Sir William, is said to have gone to Ludlow.’
‘Mistress Felicia?’ His uncle lifted a delicately arched brow.
Edmund’s lips eased into a smile. ‘Tell me, do you know if the Lord Edward is still at Ludlow?’
‘I doubt it.’ Walter sat down at the table. ‘I deem his next destination will be Gloucester.‘
Edmund’s mouth set firm. ‘Then I shall go there after I escort Mistress Felicia to her manor at Chipbury.’ He picked up the scroll. ‘This I would have you keep safe a while longer.’
The abbot took the scroll and replaced it in the chest. ‘How long do you mean to stay here?’
‘I would have liked to have stayed longer, but it can only be for one night as there is Mistress Felicia to consider ...’ His voice faded, and he fiddled with the stem of his goblet.
‘Tell me, nephew, about Mistress Felicia.’
Edmund hesitated. Then he sat down and began to tell his uncle all that had happened since his mother’s death.
Chapter Nine
‘You are awake at last! All the afternoon has gone.’
Felicia blinked and sat up. ‘I was tired. The journey was wearisome,’ she said, staring at Joan who stood over by the window.
Joan dragged the ends of the cord about the waist of her blue surcote through quivering fingers. ‘Why have we come here?’
‘Edmund’s uncle Walter is the abbot here,’ said Felicia, scrambling out of bed and hurrying over to the window. ‘He has come to inform him about his mother’s death. She was the abbot’s sister.’
‘Did Philip kill her with his own hands?’ There was a horrified expression in Joan’s eyes.
‘He set fire to her house, and
, despite all Edmund’s attempts to save her, she died,’ answered Felicia, staring out of the lancet window opening.
Joan looked askance at her. ‘It seems providential that her son should be at hand to help you to escape. How did he know you were an unwilling guest of Philip? It sounds as if you barely knew him—yet now you are lovers.’
‘We are not lovers!’ said Felicia as calmly as she could. ‘I told you that he helped me because he saw it as a way of having his revenge on Philip.’ She held her face up to the sun’s rays. ‘Tell me. While you wandered in the forest after Philip had gone, did you see anyone that you would recognise as Philip’s followers?’
‘What? I—I don’t know.’ Joan put a hand to her head, and appeared disconcerted. ‘Why do you change the subject? You spent the other night with Master Edmund. You were in his arms.’
Felicia was taken aback. ‘Then is it you who have been spying on me? I left the keep because I was scared of mice. I returned after I had calmed down. I suppose it was you that followed me earlier?’
‘What do you mean? Why should I follow you?’ Joan’s jaw tightened. ‘It is that man who is your follower. Perhaps he has already done to you ...’
‘Done what?’
Joan hitched a shoulder high and turned away. ‘What Philip did to me. Men are all the same, if you are thinking that this Edmund is different.’
Felicia flushed and felt the remnants of her patience deserting her. ‘Master Edmund is not my lover! What Philip did to you was cruel but you must not allow your imagination to run away with you.’
‘I would not deny that just thinking about what else he might do to me causes me to shake in my shoes. How I wish we could change places and then you would understand what it is like to be me!’ she cried, sounding hysterical.
Before Felicia could stop her, Joan hurried across the chamber, and dragging the door open, she went out, slamming it behind her.
Felicia’s instinct was to go after her, but then decided it was best to wait until her cousin calmed down. Aware of voices coming from the courtyard, she returned to the window and stood there, listening.
