by Claudia Dain
But now he had Elsbeth. And having her, he could let loose his anger a bit. He would not openly offend, but he would no longer hold his tongue and his sword arm against insult. Gautier now knew the truth of that.
"You are skilled," Gautier said.
"No more than any who dwell in Outremer," Hugh said, laying down the gauntlet for all his kinsmen.
Gautier grunted his answer and wiped his face with his aim.
"Where did you foster?" Gautier asked.
"In the household of my king," Hugh answered.
"Baldwin," Gautier huffed. "Tales are told of him."
"They are more than tales. They are the sterling truth. He is a king unlike any other."
"Henry is a king to be feared," Gautier said, glaring.
"Henry is a king, and if men fear him, then that is good. But Baldwin is loved."
"Is it better for a king to be loved? What strength lies in that?"
"It is because he is strong and wise and fierce that he is loved," Hugh said. "A man may turn from fear, having grown weary of it, yet no man turns from the thing he loves, for in loving, he is strengthened and fed. Such is the strength of Baldwin and of those who serve him."
Gautier looked at Hugh appraisingly, and Hugh returned the look.
"So, you were fostered at his court and you learned to love him."
"Aye," Hugh answered, his chin raised. "I learned many things at his court. Especially how to fight."
"Aye, you did learn that, I can attest," Gautier said. "Whether you learned how to inspire love, that is still to be seen."
"I have given my vow to it."
"Aye, but a vow without the force to see it done is an empty promise. You must win her love and her trust. Her will must bow to yours."
"And so it shall," Hugh said, his face solemn. "This is old ground. We have run this course when you tutored me in all the ways to win her. I am her husband now. I am close upon the mark."
"Yet not on it," Gautier said. "You must consummate. There can be no grounds for annulment or repudiation."
"I will not repudiate her."
Gaudier laughed. "You do not know her. She could well bring a case against you in ecclesiastical court. Bed her. Close that gate and then talk to me of winning her. We cannot have what we each want until you have her in your grasp."
"I cannot take her whilst she is in flux."
"Then pray that she waits for you to penetrate her. For myself, I think she thanks God hourly for this reprieve. And plots a way out of an unwelcome and unsought marriage," Gautier said, sheathing his sword.
"I am bending her will to mine even now."
"So you say," parried Gautier, "and mayhap you even believe it. Yet I know Elsbeth. You are not on solid ground."
Hugh said nothing. There was nothing more to be said, and he was weary of arguing the same point again and again with a man who had no wish to be convinced.
"Find your wife," Gautier said. "Do what you must to fulfill our bargain. I stand ready to meet my obligation to you."
"I am pleased to hear it," Hugh said with a tight smile.
Hugh watched him walk off, his squire at his back. Gautier stood ready? Hugh had grave doubts as to that, but for now, there was nothing to be done. Nothing except win the heart and will of Elsbeth. From that, all would follow.
* * *
Hugh could fight. Gautier had not expected it of a man so soft and smiling. 'Twas a wrinkle in a plan that he had mapped well.
Gautier sighed and ran his hand over his hound's head, thinking hard.
They had a bargain, the two of them, and he would meet his end, if it came to that. But were there not ways to get what he wanted without losing a thing? There had to be. There always was.
Hugh might need to die and his squire with him.
Aye, that would clear many obstacles. Yet he could not see it done in one-to-one combat; that had just been proved. It must be done by stealth.
* * *
"We must go now and speak with the priest," Elsbeth said to Denise.
"With Father Godfrey?" Denise said. "Why?"
Father Godfrey. So that was his name. Thank the saints that she had not been driven to ask; she would have been shamed past bearing.
"Because he is our priest and we should talk to him."
"About what? It is but hours till Vespers. Can we not see him then?"
"Yea, we will see him then, but we must speak with him now."
"Why?"
Elsbeth suddenly understood why Emma looked so exhausted.
"Because I am concerned about your soul."
"My soul feels fine. I think," Denise said. "I am not troubled by it."
"Aye, and that is part of the problem," Elsbeth said.
"You want me to have trouble with my soul?"
"Nay, nay, but I want you to feel the weight of it, this eternal part of you. Your temporal parts will wither and age, dying as all things of this world do. It is your soul which lives on. We must see to its health."
"If my soul lives on, why must we see to its health? Will it not live on, no matter what?"
"Denise," Elsbeth said, taking firm hold of her hand and marching her across the bailey to the chapel, "we are to see Father Godfrey. Make up your mind to it."
"Oh, aye, I know we are, but I still do not understand why."
"I will leave that to the father to explain to you." She only prayed to God he could.
They entered the chapel, which was already dark in the failing light of an autumn afternoon. The clouds had built up again, thick against the floor of heaven, pressing against the treetops, turning all the world to pearl. Beautiful. Candlelight shone warm and golden against the stone walls, yellow orbs of heat and welcome in a gray world. The light of heaven itself, welcoming a soul within its bosom. Or so she hoped Denise would see it.
"It is very dark," Denise said. "And cold. I am glad of my boots. Do you think Lord Hugh will like my boots?"
"I am certain he will like your boots very much. He has boots of his own which he cherishes highly. Perhaps you can spend an hour by the hearth, comparing the workmanship of your boots."
"Elsbeth?" Denise said, looking up at her in puzzlement at her tone.
"Nay, I am not mocking you," Elsbeth said. "I am cross of a sudden. I do not know why."
"Mayhap you miss him? It has been hours since we were with him."
Aye, it had been hours, but what of that? She did not need him, or want him. When she disappeared into her own life, a life apart from his, she would be year upon year without the sight of him or the sound of his laughter. What mattered hours now?
He was hers, but only for now.
"It has also been hours since we last prayed. Think on that, Denise, and let us find Father Godfrey."
"He is easily found," Denise said. "He is always in his toft, working the soil your father gave into his keeping."
"He works the soil?"
"Yea, when he is not at his prayers. What do you do when you are not at your prayers, Elsbeth?'
She was never not at her prayers. Her prayers sustained her, giving her life purpose and structure, imbuing her mind with peace and security.
"Are we not instructed to pray without ceasing? This I do."
"Even Father Godfrey does not do that," Denise mumbled.
"I am sure he prays mightily."
"But not all the time."
She was not going to get into another debate with a child of eight.
"Show me to his toft, Denise. I will speak to him today."
"It is through the side door," she said, pointing to a small arched door at the side of the nave.
They found him on his knees as the rain began to fall in large splattering plops. He stood at their approach and dusted his hands, ignoring the rain.
"You find me at my labors," he said. "Do not tell me it is the hour for Vespers. I cannot have been so remiss."
He was a kindly looking man, now that she looked again, her memories of him stirred to life. He h
ad been a handsome man ten years past and had always had a smile for her. His hair of ginger hue splattered with silver, his checks ruddy with health, his eyes the blue of a soft sea—a most regular and comforting looking priest was Godfrey, just the sort of man to guide Denise.
"Nay, Father," Elsbeth said. "It is hours yet. We have come because... well, because..."
She did not quite know where to begin.
"Let us move into the chapel. It is ofttimes easier to speak under the shadow of the rood," Father Godfrey said.
"Aye, that is so," she said with a relieved sigh.
When they were gathered beneath the comforting arms of Christ on His cross. Father Godfrey said, "Now, what need does a bride of a day have for a priest?"
"Oh, it is not I who has need," Elsbeth said.
"Oh?" He looked down at Denise.
"It is Denise," Elsbeth said. "Her spiritual education has been lacking."
"I see her at the Mass."
"Aye, but she does not seem to... believe," Elsbeth said.
"Not to believe—that is a most serious charge," he said, looking down at Denise. She met his look for a time and then looked down at her feet. "Tell me what you believe, Denise."
"I believe in God, in the Holy Trinity, in heaven and in hell," Denise said.
"And?" he asked.
"And I believe in the miracles and in the saints and in the blessed Virgin."
Father Godfrey looked at Elsbeth. "Her belief seems most complete. From what springs your concern?"
"I do not think Denise believes that God cares for her, that He is her bulwark against trouble and her strong tower against enemies. There is no rest in her belief," Elsbeth said.
Father Godfrey looked carefully at Elsbeth and smiled. "It could be said that she is young yet for such precision. It could be said that Denise lives in a strong tower and so feels not the hunger for protection that David did when he wrote those inspired words. It could be said that all belief is perfected by God Himself in its proper time. And it could also be said that this child needs guidance in her belief," he said, looking again down at Denise.
"I would say that I live in a strong tower, but that I would like a pair of boots that fit properly," Denise said.
"Would you?" Father Godfrey said, scowling down at her softly. "And has anyone asked what you would say?"
"Nay, Father," she said, dropping her head.
"Have you thanked God for the boots you have and for the strong lower which shelters you?"
"Nay, Father," she said, slipping her hand into Elsbeth's.
"Well, kneel now and give your thanks to God for what you have. He will see to what you do not have. And when you are done with thanking God, you will come to me after Compline each day and we will search God's will for you, I your willing tutor in matters eternal. You will come, Denise?"
"Yea, Father," she said, kneeling in the nave, her blond hair picking up the golden light of the candles.
"Thank you, Father," Elsbeth said. "I was concerned, as was my lord Hugh."
"She is young," he said. "Such stumbling steps are common. I have known her longer than you, and Denise is a stout soul; she will find her way, with my guidance. But what of you, Elsbeth? Have you not a care of your own?"
"Father?" Were her suspicions so plain then?
He led her away from Denise, who was mumbling her prayers in hurried Latin. When they stood at the back of the church, the shadows enfolding them in chilly comfort, he said, "I remember you well, Elsbeth, and I know how to read a troubled heart. Tell me what concerns you." He laid his hand upon her arm in comfort; she shook off its weight before answering.
"Of concerns I have few. Perhaps I have a question or two which I had thought to put to you," she said. Now that the opportunity was upon her, she could not get the words past her constricted throat. He knew her well? She could hardly remember him at all; finding his name had been a task beyond her skill.
"Questions? I will answer what I may, yet is it not the fear of sin which clouds your eyes?"
"Should not the fear of sin cloud every eye?" she said, evading him.
"Aye, it could be argued," he said. "But what troubles you, Elsbeth? Speak plain. I am your priest and would only serve your soul."
Her priest, yet she did not know him. He was a stranger to her. How could she speak her fears to this man of God who lived out his life in Warkham under her father's very nose?
"I have not sinned, yet…" she said, halting. "Yet..."
She could not name the thing she feared. She could not lay Hugh out to public shame in Warkham's bailey. With any other priest, at any other holding, she would have spoken freely. But not here.
"All have sinned. It is only unconfessed and unrepentant sin which damns us."
"Aye, that is true," she said. "Do you then tell me I have no cause to fear?"
"I can tell you nothing, Elsbeth, beyond what I have said. In confession and in repentance we are set free. And instructed to go and sin no more," he added.
"A difficult task," she said. "Even for a knight from Outremer."
Surely the priest had heard Hugh's confession and knew whether he had unnatural desires. Let Godfrey only say that Hugh had turned from his sin. Yet why should she want that? If Hugh sinned and by his sin she was released from this marriage, would that not answer all? She should want to find the evidence of Hugh's continuing sin. Coupled with their lack of consummation, it was the key to set her free.
Yet she did not want to believe what her heart whispered against him. 'Twas little wonder she could make no sense of what Father Godfrey was saying; she could make no sense of her own thoughts and wishes. She was the very woman her mother had warned her against becoming.
"Sin knows no boundaries, Elsbeth," Godfrey said softly. "Lucifer is no respecter of persons. Even a knight from Outremer may fall into his maw," he said solemnly.
"Father, I am not comforted."
Did he tell her that Hugh was guilty and that he had not repented of his sin, or did he blame her for the courses that barred the way of her husband into her? Or did he speak of theology with no thought to Hugh or Elsbeth or the working of things behind Warkham's walls? He was not a plain-speaking man, this priest.
"Elsbeth, comfort is only found within God's strong tower. Comfort and safety are His promises. 'He alone is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will never be shaken.' Heed the words of the psalm. Heed them and be at peace."
"Father, I am at peace," she said again, more firmly. "I know this verse very well."
"Aye, I taught it to you years past," he said. "I am pleased that you remembered it, though I was forgotten."
"I did not—"
"Nay, do not lay the sin of deceit upon your soul," he said, smiling softly. "I have changed. I know it. The years pass and the burdens of life grow heavy."
Elsbeth smiled. "Yea, Father, and thank you. You are most forgiving."
"Lay it not as praise upon me," he said. "Is the dispensing of forgiveness not my province? I but do as I am bid by my master. Elsbeth," he said, his smile fading, "forgiveness is what we are each called to. Mayhap the burden that you carry with you now could be lifted from you if you could find the grace to forgive."
He was guilty. Father Godfrey could not say it outright, but Hugh was guilty of sodomy. Perhaps even with Baldwin, the king he openly loved. Perhaps even with Raymond, his handsome squire. Father Godfrey wanted her to forgive him. Father Godfrey wanted her marriage to stand, and he wanted her to forgive the sin Hugh carried upon his soul.
Yet this was her way out. If Hugh had committed sodomy, would not the church release her from marriage to such a man? Especially as there was no consummation? What held them together? Not their bodies joined as one. This union could be broken at a word.
"And will God forgive a woman who repudiates her hus—"
"Ah, I have found you," Hugh said, shaking the water from his hair as he entered.
Elsbeth jumped as if struck and whirled to face him. "
My lord," she said, dropping her head in greeting.
"My lady," he said, bowing. "And my small lady Denise," he added as Denise came toward him. "How fetching you look, and how fine are your boots."
Denise grinned hugely and stole a quick look at Elsbeth, who smiled and shook her head in surrender.
"I have said my prayers, Father Godfrey," Denise said. "Do you like my bliaut, Lord Hugh? Do you think the color suits?"
"Father Godfrey," Hugh said, ignoring Denise for the moment, "I looked for you in your toft, even in this rain, for I know how you must work your soil every day. Only two such worthy ladies could pull you from your self-appointed tasks."
"All tasks are God-appointed, Lord Hugh," Father Godfrey said with good humor. "Even the task of teaching small ladies how to pray."
"You speak not of my wife, certainly, for though she is small, she is a prayer warrior of great renown."
Father Godfrey only smiled.
"Do you not like green?" Denise said.
"Be still, Denise. You must keep still," Elsbeth said.
"I have an amber bliaut," Denise said softly to Hugh. "Do you like amber?"
"Denise," he said, his eyes mild and smiling, "you must listen to Lady Elsbeth. Let her show you what it is to be a woman. You could not see a finer example though you traveled the world."
"Well spoke, my lord." Father Godfrey said.
"It is only the truth," Hugh said, looking down at Elsbeth.
She suspected him of sodomy and still he could touch her heart with his smile. Ardeth had spoken true of the way of things between a woman and a man. She had vowed to walk a different course, and yet she was momentarily blinded by a smile from a beguiling man, her mother's lessons lost in mist.
She did not need his praise. She had never needed any man's praise. What, then, this stirring in her heart? Was she as weak as all that? It could not be so.
