by Claudia Dain
"'Tis better for me to remember Walter, a man I might attain, than to think of men so far above our sphere and reach."
"Above our sphere, aye, but above our reach?" Jovetta laughed lightly. "I think I can reach Raymond. I do not want to hold him long, only hold him hard between my legs. I think I can reach for that and find success."
"And the babe that might come from such reaching?"
"I will take care. I know a thing about stopping the making of a babe."
"Really?" Marie asked, laying her broom aside. "And who taught you that?"
"Oswina, the midwife's apprentice."
"She was a scold! Besides, she has run off. I would not lay my life on any words of counsel from her lips."
"Scold or not, she was an apt apprentice. She had practice enough in serving Warkham."
The dust was disturbed by the entry of a man into their midst. The very man of their speculation.
"May I beg a drink?" Raymond asked.
Jovetta turned and smiled with all the abandon of a woman on the hunt. Marie blushed and averted her eyes.
"Surely, Raymond," Jovetta answered.
"You know my name?" he asked as she went to fill a mug of ale for him.
"Aye, and the name of your lord and the name of his horse," Jovetta said.
Raymond smiled. "Then you know more names than I. What is yours, wench?"
"Jovetta."
"A lovely name."
"I thank you, though I had no hand in the choosing of it," she said with a grin.
Raymond smiled in response, taking the ale from her, their fingers brushing, and then turned to Marie. "And your name?"
"Marie."
"The name of our Savior's mother. What name could be more beautiful?" he said.
"The name of our Savior?" Marie answered tartly, resuming her sweeping.
Raymond grinned and said, "Ah, a warrior maid and her weapon, a broom."
"Nay, my weapon is my tongue."
"Then wield it against me again, Marie. I know well how to defeat a woman's tongue."
"And what weapon do you use in this battle, Raymond?" Jovetta asked.
"My own tongue, of course," he said.
"What talk is this?" Father Godfrey demanded, coming into the kitchen as the rain began to beat down in the bailey. "This is not proper and does not lead the heart and soul down the path of righteousness. I had thought better of the men of the holy city," he said, looking hard at Raymond.
"Your pardon, Father," Raymond said, bowing.
The women bent their heads in contrition, whether because they were truly contrite or only shamed at being caught, only they knew.
"Well you should ask my pardon. Will you lead these weaker vessels astray?" he asked, sweeping his arm toward the servant girls. "Is this how you serve Hugh and the needs of Jerusalem?"
"Nay, Father," Raymond said. "'Twas only idle talk."
"And does the Lord smile on idleness in any form? He does not. I am about the business of the Lord. I would strongly urge you to be about the business of your lord. I am most certain Hugh does not encourage this in you."
"Nay, Father, he does not," Raymond said in perfect solemnity. "I stand in submission to your will and his."
"Good," Father Godfrey said, leaving the kitchen with a warning glance for the women.
"Did you speak true?" Jovetta asked when she was sure the priest had left them. "Is your knight so hard of purpose?"
"Hard?" Raymond asked with a smile. "I would not give any answer that would shame him or me. Let me say only that I have yet to earn his displeasure for speaking to a woman."
"And so we are back to the topic of your tongue and what you may or may not do with it," Jovetta said.
"Jovetta!" Marie said.
"What did Jovetta say?" said a voice from beyond the kitchen wall. In the next instant, a small, dirty, fair-haired girl ran into the kitchen from the rain. She was also very wet.
"Denise, you should not be here," Marie said. "Lady Emma will not be pleased that you are not where she has left you."
"I am not pleased that she keeps leaving me," Denise said. "I do not see why she cannot have a turn at being displeased. I have had turns enough."
"Who is this chit?" Raymond asked, throwing back the end of his cloak.
"Chit?" Denise said, eyeing him. "Who is this gangling lad of wrist bones and knuckles?"
"Lad? I am no lad. I am squire to Lord Hugh of Jerusalem."
"Lord Hugh must have been very easy in his choosing," Denise countered.
"Denise!" Jovetta hissed. "Back to the solar with you."
"She is fostered here?" Raymond asked. She looked a villein by her dirt, yet her clothes were of fine weave and color, and none but the lady of the holding and her women entered the solar.
"Aye, I am," Denise answered. "What are you doing here?"
"I do not answer to a child!"
"Do not or cannot?" Denise said with a smirk.
"Denise," Marie said, taking her by the hand. "You must be where you belong."
"He does not belong in Warkham's kitchen. Why does he not leave?"
"I am leaving," Raymond said.
"Good," Denise answered, grinning.
"Must you leave?" Jovetta asked.
"Aye, he must," Denise answered, crossing her arms over her flat chest.
"Aye, he must," John the cook said, coming into the kitchen from the rain. He was a huge man of dark complexion and much hair. He did not look at all like a cook. "I must begin the day's meal, and all who do not belong in Warkham's kitchens must depart." He looked at Raymond and Denise. Marie and Jovetta became very busy with cleaning, heads down and mouths closed.
"You must leave," Denise said to Raymond.
"As must you," Raymond countered.
"I live here."
"I am a guest."
"Guests do not belong in the kitchen."
"Neither do children."
"Out!" John thundered.
Denise and Raymond bolted out of the kitchen door, arguing as they disappeared into the rain, which was lightening to mist.
Out of the mist came Hugh.
"Master Cook." he said upon entering the warm glow of the fire, "I would beg sustenance for my lady."
"For Lady Elsbeth, the larder is ever full and ever open," John replied. "Take what you wish, my lord."
Hugh nodded his thanks and took a loaf of bread from a lively looking wench.
"The laundry will have what else she needs, my lord," a more subdued wench supplied.
"I thank you and my lady thanks you," Hugh said. So, all within Warkham knew of Elsbeth's condition. Well, there were few secrets in any holding, and this secret was one that all women shared in their monthly time. "If I could send my squire in for ale? My wife and I have simple needs, and we will break our fast in the quiet of our chamber."
The comely lass giggled. Hugh grinned in response and winked at her. She dropped a tray of crockery.
"Would there be any water for a bath for my bride? I think it would soothe her," Hugh said.
"Aye, 'twill be ready in but a few moments," John said. "Though 'twas your needs we had heard were best met by hot water, my lord."
Hugh shrugged and grinned. "I confess it freely. I have the Levantine fondness for water and soap and freshly scented cloth against my skin. Think you I can tempt Elsbeth into sharing my weakness?"
"My lord, I think it in you to tempt a maid to anything," Jovetta said.
Hugh only laughed in answer and they all laughed with him, with the exception of John, who kept his countenance a careful blank.
The cook handed Hugh a basket of apples, declaring that Elsbeth had a fondness for them. The quiet lass came with a handful of wadding and clean linen. The lively lass bent to pick up shards of crockery, the cook giving her a fearsome frown. All were bent on helping Hugh, a situation to which he was well accustomed.
He left the kitchens to find Raymond loitering about with a scowl to match the heavy clouds above them
on another gray English dawning.
"Fetch ale from the kitchens for my lady, Raymond," he said. "I have no more hands to do her service."
"You look well laden," Raymond said, banishing his scowl.
"Aye, and well purposed. I will take another step, mayhap a leap, upon the path to winning her this day."
"And can a damsel be won with apples and bread?" Raymond asked with a grin. "Nay, do not answer it. I know. If the man be Hugh, then the maid be won."
"My wife would call that flattery," Hugh said, grinning. "I call it stating the truth."
"Go to, my lord, and win her love. Then we can be gone from here. The maids are mostly sour in this soggy land. I would to the south, where smiles are sweeter and flesh plumper."
"You are too young to be so jaded," Hugh said. "And too much the man to give in so quickly. If you must fight for her, then fight." Hugh shrugged. "'Tis what a man must do, and ofttimes the winning is the sweeter for the fight. I have a fight of my own with Elsbeth. Do I tremble? Do I scowl? Nay, I smile and whet my blade."
"This one is no Elsbeth. Your lady is sweet-tempered and mild."
"Mild?" Hugh said, laughing. "You know not your women if you call my lady mild. She is all blade and mail; I have never known the like. Nay, she is a worthy battle for me. In fact, I find I am most engaged by her."
"My lord, you are engaged by every woman," Raymond said.
"Quiet, boy, I am a married man," Hugh said with a smile. "Those days are past."
"Aye, my lord," Raymond said with an answering smile.
* * *
He reentered the chamber without even a knock. They had come that far in intimacy in a single night. What would prevail after a sennight, she did not want to think.
However, he had a fresh bucket of water, more wadding, more linen, and a loaf of fresh bread.
"No ale?" she said and cursed her contrary tongue even as the words slipped out.
He grinned at her churlishness and cocked his head in entreaty. Two mugs of ale appeared from the hall suspended on longish arms and grasped by bony hands.
"Who?" she said, darting behind the bed.
"My squire, Raymond," Hugh said. "Would you meet him?"
"Nay! Just give me—" she said, reaching for the linen from behind the bed, ducking, grasping, not reaching, and snapping her fingers in her dire need.
"Oh? My wife thinks to snap her fingers at me? This shall not be home. Would I be any knight at all if I allowed my little wife to snap me about like a child of two? Nay, I would not."
Meanwhile, he had closed the door upon his squire. She was thankful for that, though it was small enough service considering the circumstances.
"The linen!" she hissed. "Have your fun later, my lord. My need is great."
"So it is, and I will meet it," he said, handing her the linen and setting down the new bucket. The bucket of sodden cloth he set outside the door. "See to yourself, Elsbeth. I will have a bath sent for us. You have need of it today."
"You will leave, then? To see to the bath?" she asked. She could wait no longer.
"I will," he said. "I will return anon. Be quick, if you can."
She would be quick because she must, which showed how little he knew of things. The matter was well in hand when she heard the knock upon the door long moments later. She bid whomever was without to enter, expecting Hugh. What she got was a lad she did not know carrying a large washtub most awkwardly.
"My lady," he said, tipping his head.
She nodded in return, glad that she had dressed in a clean chemise, pelisse, and bliaut from her trunk. She had chosen her deepest green pelisse with red cording at the wrist and throat and a rose-hued bliaut. Her girdle was of small golden links set with unglittering and serene onyx. She felt well protected from any further torment at her husband's hands. The sun was up. It was past time for prayer. Yet this lad had a tub which he was setting in front of her fire.
Hugh came behind him carrying a smallish basket of apples.
"Set it there, Raymond," he said. "See to the water and bring more wood for the fire. I would not have my lady feel the chill of an autumn morning."
"I am not chilled," she said to Hugh, crossing her arms over her breasts.
"You will be," he said, offering her an apple, grinning.
"My lord? You are ill-attired," she said. "Shall I leave the chamber to you? I have seen to all my needs."
He stood in his bare feet and his tunic, naught else. Of braes he had none. He was more bare than clothed.
"I can well understand why you complain of the cold if this is your common attire," she added.
"Elsbeth! You rebuke me? I was but seeing to your needs," he said, pointing Raymond out of the room. Raymond went without looking back. "And I see to them now, again. You are soiled, my little one. The water is coming which will cleanse you. I think you should disrobe, though that is a very fetching pelisse. Did you choose it for me to admire?"
"I did not. It was the closest to the top,” she said.
"Hmmm. Take it off," he said, taking a bite of his apple.
Elsbeth drew herself up. "I have prepared to face the day. My prayers are tardy. I will away. Avail yourself of the water, if it suits you so well."
"Ah, it suits me very well, and so it will suit you. Take off your clothes," he said again, taking another bite. His jaw worked hard on the apple, the muscles of his cheeks contracting in rhythm with the movement of his throat. Never had the eating of an apple been so sensuous.
"I do not rebuke you, my lord," she said, reaching for calm composure and finding a blond giant in its stead. "I only seek your pleasure. Take the water—it is yours."
"I take the wife instead; she also is mine. Shall I assist—?"
It was at that moment that Raymond returned with the bathwater, halting their joust of wills. He was followed in by two men of Warkham carrying more water. They quickly filled the tub and left.
"I will take your silence for assent," Hugh said. "I think it wondrous fair that you want me to disrobe you, Elsbeth. It speaks of seduction and intimacy; 'tis rare for a wife of mere hours to lure her husband so."
"I will do it!" she said, backing from him with an outstretched arm.
"You will?" he said, stopping, his expression comically confused. "You are ever changeable, little Elsbeth. A man must keep his wits sharp when in parley with you. You will befuddle me in a sennight, am I not wary."
"Will you leave me to my ablutions?" she asked, ignoring his attempts at jesting.
"Nay," he said, shaking his head in false regret. He ate his apple, core and all. The stem he threw into the fire. "I am not afeared of a woman's body, in flux or out. Do not fear for me, Elsbeth. I do not need protection from you."
She supposed the women of Jerusalem found him wondrous, handsome, and of jovial temperament. She was not of Jerusalem. In England, his humor wore very thin.
Or perhaps it was she who was wearing thin. This constant proximity was more than she had expected upon getting a husband. He could not share her bed as a husband would wish. Did he have to share her company? She had never heard the like. Their union was for begetting; so said church and king and Gautier. Never had she heard it said that a husband would insist upon watching his wife bathe.
'Twas most strange.
'Twas equally unwelcome.
"I cannot bathe without turning all the water to blood, my lord. Take the water for yourself; I give it unto you with a glad heart," she said.
He stopped and appeared to consider her words.
"I had not thought of that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Let us then do this: I shall bathe first, and then you may have what you wish of the water."
"I wish nothing of the water, my lord. I have no need of it."
"Ah, but you do, Elsbeth. Are you not blooded? I would have you clean of it, even for an hour."
"You understand little of these things, my lord. My blood will not withdraw for an hour."
"Yet water will not har
m you, and it will give me great pleasure to cleanse you myself, even if the cleansing last for only a moment. It was on your lips that your desire was to give me pleasure."
"Did I say that?"
"Aye, I remember something of the like," he said, smiling pleasantly. All his smiles were pleasant, yet none of the pleasure was passed to her. Nay, why should he not be pleasant when he expected to have his way in all things? "Do you not remember the same?"
She was not going to answer that.
"I will leave you, then, my lord. You have an appointment with your bathwater, and it cools even now."
"Nay, do not leave, for my pleasure only grows to have you near me. Can you not see how pleased I am?"
Aye, she could see. His manhood stood out from his body, stiff and long, lifting the tunic away from him.
"Is that because of me or the water?" she said and again regretted instantly the tartness of her tongue. This was not the way to open abbey doors to her.
Hugh laughed and lifted the tunic over his head, throwing it on the bed. "Why, for you, Elsbeth. Have no doubt as to that. You shall know what causes me to rise soon enough, once you have left behind the name Maiden Wife."
He stepped into the water. "Wash me, Elsbeth, as I will soon wash you. Touch me. Know me."
"I know you very well," she said. As well as she needed to.
"But not as the Bible says a man shall know his wife. That knowing is still to come," he said. "Learn at least a part of me, before that final knowing is upon you. 'Twill make it easier, I think."
Easier for him, she had no doubt. She had no desire to touch him and she did not want to know him.
"You think of me, my lord, or is it of yourself? I think that a man will always find a way to get a woman's hands upon him."
"You think wrongly then, little wife, for a man will always find a way to lay his hands upon a woman. What she does with her hands hardly matters."
"You hardly think well or much of women, my lord, to say so," she said, keeping her distance and her arms crossed over her breasts. They were strangely sensitive, no doubt a result of his fondling last night. It was going to be very difficult to concentrate on her prayers with aching breasts. Another reason, if one was needed, to drive this man off.
