“Then was he a lord?” said Theodosia.
“Hold, Theodosia.” Benedict gestured to her. “A nobleman wouldn’t be roaming the land on foot, he should have been mounted.”
“Why should I hold? It’s my father — ”
“Theodosia, your manners. Sir Palmer asks a perceptive question.”
Mama’s tone that allowed no argument — she remembered it well.
With a gracious nod to Benedict, Amélie continued. “A hunting accident, poor soul. He’d gone out on his own, his horse had thrown him. Oh, but in spite of his hours in the heat, he was still furious. He dug into one of his pockets and waved a horseshoe at me. ‘Look, look,’ he said, ‘some’ — and I cannot repeat the word — ‘used the wrong-size nails.’ He was not familiar with the countryside, so had wandered for hours in the boiling sun. He railed about his accident, his farrier.” Amélie gave her inward-looking smile again. “I feared he would drive himself into a paroxysm.”
Theodosia did not dare to comment.
“The heat can drive a man mad,” said Benedict.
Amélie nodded. “That was what worried me. I handed him my water jar and told him to drink what was left. I do not think I have ever seen a man so grateful for a few mouthfuls of spring water warmed through from a day in the sun. As he drank, I took my straw hat and fanned him with it as best I could, took my own kerchief and mopped his brow. He smiled at me as he drained the bottle. Oh, the way that smile lit his eyes: piercing gray, they were, as sharp as an eagle’s, and such huge life in them.” With a sigh, she shook her head once more. “I offered to take him home.”
Theodosia dared not give voice to her disapproval, but she doubted if it mattered. Though her mother spoke of her father, Amélie seemed far more focused on Benedict.
“I know what you must be thinking, Sir Palmer.” Amélie had a delicate flush to her cheek. “But I was not a nun then. I lived with my parents, respectable, God-fearing free tenants with ten virgates of their own. I had to offer him shelter, somewhere to eat, drink. My poor offering of water would not have been enough to sustain him for long.”
“A noble offer.” Benedict gave a slight nod as Theodosia stayed silent.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice any undercurrent in Benedict’s remark. “As we walked along the lanes, he appeared restored to great good cheer. He told me I’d been sent from heaven by the Almighty to save his life, plucked rose petals from the bushes, and strew them where I walked, said such a woman should not have to tread upon this earth.” She smiled again at her own recollections. “I laughed at first at such absurdity, but he would have none of it, kept calling out my virtues. Darkness was falling as we approached my father’s farm. I could see lights moving about, and I knew folk would be looking for me. I turned to him to point them out to him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “As I did so, he fell to his knees and promised himself to me.”
Theodosia matched Benedict’s look of surprise. For a terrible second, she thought she might laugh, as much at her late father’s wild actions as at the idea of Benedict behaving so. She coughed. “Did you take him seriously, Mama?”
Amélie considered her for a moment. “Of course I did. His behavior was unorthodox, but there was no wrong in it. Are you saying otherwise?”
Benedict rescued her. “Pray go on, Sister Amélie. I think Theodosia relives your own surprise.”
“I brought my young man home,” said Amélie. “My parents were greatly relieved to see me and, once they had heard his story, my young man too. Mama had the servants prepare him a room so he could be brought back to health. Our house wasn’t a grand hall, only a farmhouse, but it was very spacious and well appointed. My stranger left after a couple of days, with a borrowed horse.”
“Then I was born out of wedlock?” Theodosia could scarce get the words out.
High spots of color pinked her mother’s cheeks. “How dare you suggest that I would commit such a sin? Have you lost your reason, Laeticia?”
Theodosia clamped her hands together. “Theodosia.”
Amélie’s nostrils flared. “Well, now I see why your vocation eludes you, with sinful thoughts ready in your mind.” Straight on the settle before, she sat even straighter. “My virtue was never in question. Unlike yours has been, over the last couple of weeks, with you in the company of sinful men.”
Now it was Theodosia’s turn to color. She couldn’t meet Benedict’s eye.
“My young man came back, time after time,” continued Amélie. “Always seeking my hand, pressing me to take him, begging my father to influence me. I grew to love him and his noble love. So eventually, I told him yes. When we were promised to each other before God, it was the happiest day of my life. Then you, Laeticia, were born the next time the harvests came round. We named you as joy, happiness, for that was what we had: noble, blessed love.”
An odd expression formed on Benedict’s face. “How long were you together, Sister Amélie?”
“Only a year.” Amélie’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Then he had to go.”
“He died,” said Theodosia, keen for the truth.
“No.” Slow tears rolled down her mother’s face. “He had to go. For as a nobleman, he was pressed to other duties.”
“I think I see,” said Benedict.
“I do not,” said Theodosia, bewildered, looking from one to another. “You are a widow, Mama.”
Amélie brought a hand to her brow. “Oh, this is so hard.”
“You’re a widow now, but only since the close of the year,” said Benedict. “Your husband was a nobleman. Called to another duty. Couldn’t give his name to his family.” He met Theodosia’s eyes with a look of triumph before he addressed Amélie once more. “He was Thomas Becket, wasn’t he, Sister?”
Theodosia’s grasped her mother’s hands as if in a vise. “Oh, Mama. Is it true? My own dear Thomas, kindness himself to me always.” Her own tears threatened. “Laying his life down for both of us, just like a loving father would do.”
Amélie pulled her hands away, shaking her head. “No, no, you are both wrong.”
Benedict persisted. “That’s why Becket had you both hidden away. That’s what Fitzurse wanted, to seek you both out on behalf of the monarch. The discovery of a wife and daughter would cause Becket to lose his position as Archbishop of Canterbury. The King would be rid of his meddlesome priest once and for all.”
“I said no.”
Benedict stiffened, caught by Mama’s displeased tone for the first time.
“Your father wasn’t Thomas, although he kept us safe for many years.”
“Then who was he, Mama?”
Amélie drew herself up again, cheeks still wet. “I found that out when you were eight weeks old.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Amélie relaxed into the high-backed chair pulled before the fireplace in her bedroom, her baby cradled in both arms. “Shush, shush.” The padded tapestry cushions of the nursing chair were bliss to her tired limbs. Baby Laeticia had kept her from her rest for many hours last night.
Laeticia continued to mewl and grizzle, then buffeted her small face against Amélie’s woolen-clad bosom.
“Not so impatient. It’s coming.” Oh, this baby had her father’s strength of will, his enormous appetite too. Amélie undid the fastening at the front of her dress, moved her linen shift to one side, and released one full breast. Her tiny infant sought it out with her pink gums and settled in an instant.
Amélie gazed down at the little downy head, one baby fist tight against a baby cheek as if to guard against a milk thief. The wood fire crackled bright and heated the room through from the cold of the windy autumn day. Outside, her parents busied themselves as always, Mother supervising a servant as she swept red and orange leaves from their yard, Father overseeing the repair of a barn door in preparation for the winter to come. The rhythm of brush and mallet, along with the baby’s steady nursing and the warmth of the room, pulled her to a near doze.
But one thing was absent
. Or, rather, one person. As if her thoughts called him there, she heard hooves in the yard and Geoffrey’s deep voice salute her parents.
She smiled to herself. Now the day was perfect.
Firm footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and the door opened to a waft of cold air. Geoffrey came in, a fur-edged dark green cloak slung around his wide, powerful chest and shoulders. Smooth calfskin hose and polished leather boots emphasized his strongly muscled legs. He pulled off his rolled-edge fur cap and smoothed his red hair.
“Husband.” She smiled her love at him as she savored his familiar face. Familiar it might be, but still with the power to arouse every inch of her body.
“Amélie.” He came over and pulled up a stool next to her. “My, my, our girl has a fierce appetite.” He raised a gauntleted hand and touched the top of Laeticia’s head. The baby suckled on, oblivious to her father’s presence.
Amélie sighed at her daughter’s intent purpose and looked to Geoffrey. Her insides contracted. His face was set in a mask of sadness.
“Geoffrey, what’s the matter?” she said.
He rested his elbows on both knees and clasped both hands. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Amélie.”
“Are you ill? Injured?”
“More complicated than that, I’m afraid.” He got up and paced the clean rushes on the floor before the fire.
“Then what?” She wanted to jump up and grab hold of him, shake him into speech, but the greedy bundle in her lap would not allow it.
He paused. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And our daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Please remember that when you hear what I have to say.” Geoffrey resumed his slow tread before the fire, back and forth, back and forth, as if his steps helped him to find words. “When we first met, I told you I was a nobleman. Part of such a life is about duty, and you understand that?”
Amélie nodded. “With all my soul.”
“Last week, I discovered I have a new obligation to fulfill.” He closed his eyes and wouldn’t look at her. “I am to be married.”
A chill enveloped her, like the fire threw ice, not flames. “But you cannot. You are already married to me.”
He opened his eyes and cast her a shamed glance. “I know. But it’s more complicated than that.”
“Oh, is it, noble sir?” Laeticia stirred in her lap, her feed disturbed by her mother’s raised voice. “I cannot see how. You stood next to me before the priest and swore your vows before God himself. How can that be undone?”
“It can’t, it can’t.” Geoffrey dropped to his knees before her and held her face. Grief clouded his gray eyes. “Which is why I’ve put you in a terrible situation.”
“You talk in riddles. All I can glean is you want to marry another.”
“I don’t, Amélie. But my duty insists on it.” He let go of her and raked his spread fingers through his thick hair.
“How can duty, nobility, be more important than a promise before God?”
“I’m not saying they’re more important. Only that I have to fulfill them. As God is my witness, Amélie, I wish I didn’t have to. I still love you, I’ll never stop loving you.”
“But you will go through the lie, the sin, of marrying another.” Amélie bit her lip to hold in her fury. “How could you do this, Geoffrey?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Not Geoffrey. That’s my father’s name. My real name is Henry. And as a prince, I have to.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Amélie fixed Theodosia with a calm gaze. “Your father is King Henry himself. My handsome stranger was a prince, and I did not know it when I married him and bore his child.”
Theodosia’s lungs wouldn’t fill. Words wouldn’t come. Benedict’s astonished exclamation sounded as if it were underwater.
“Help me, Benedict.” Her mother’s voice too, at a great, great distance.
The room lost color, faded to black and white.
Strong arms slipped across her shoulders. “Put your head down,” said Benedict, his deep voice near.
Theodosia did so, and the room whirled back into focus. She raised her head and looked from her mother to Benedict. He too had paled with the enormity of this revelation.
Amélie seemed sad yet utterly composed. “You can only imagine my shock at his words. I was sure I was to be put to death, and you, my blessed baby, along with me.”
“Why were we spared?” said Theodosia.
“His Grace was adamant he loved me from the moment he saw me, always would. That his marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine was for political gain and no other reason.” Her lips puckered in bitterness. “She’s senior to him by eleven years, so I could believe him. Soiled goods, as well, cast aside by a king of France. Oh, he could persuade a stone to turn to gold, could your father. By the end of his visit, I had agreed to stay with my parents, and he would come and see you and me as often as he dared.”
“And he did?” said Benedict.
Amélie nodded. “Things changed suddenly after a couple of years, when Henry and Eleanor succeeded to the throne. For a prince to travel anonymously is difficult enough. He had barely managed it by behaving oddly and changing his plans at short notice. For a king, especially with a watchful queen, it was almost impossible. That was where our dear Thomas Becket came in.”
The door opened.
Theodosia gave a dreadful start, as if a ghost had entered.
Brother Edward Grim greeted them as he shut the door carefully and removed his cloak. “The sailing passages are booked,” he said. “Have you told them your story, Amélie?” He placed a flagon of wine, a jar of water, and a loaf of bread on the small table.
“I am almost finished, Brother,” she said. “Becket was serving as an archdeacon in Canterbury. Due to his brilliance and compassion, he was recommended as chancellor to Henry. They hit it off straight away and became the closest friends. Henry confided his secret to Becket, as not seeing Laeticia and me was breaking his heart. It was Becket’s suggestion to move us to Canterbury Cathedral.”
“I never saw the King there,” said Theodosia.
“You couldn’t,” said Amélie. “As you grew up, your coloring, your looks, became more and more like your father’s.” Her brows drew in a fleeting frown. “Not to mention your demeanor. We could not risk people seeing you and me with him and wondering about our ties.”
“It worked,” said Edward with a nod. “You were under my nose all along, and I never guessed.”
“That was why I had to go to Polesworth Abbey,” said Amélie. “But God consoled me. I made you as my gift to God, Laeticia.”
“Theodosia,” said Edward.
“Of course, Brother,” said her mother.
Theodosia had no words. It did not console her. She’d been ten years old, her mother’s place had been with her.
Benedict got to his feet. “Then my mission with the knights would have been ordered because the King and Becket had fallen out. Becket held Henry’s darkest secret. If it had got out, everything would have been ruined: the King’s marriage, his sons illegitimate.”
“Indeed,” said Edward. “Henry sent them to arrest Becket and find Sisters Amélie and Theodosia. He must have wanted to contain his secret once more.”
A deep sorrow and even deeper guilt tore through Theodosia. Bad enough that Thomas had died to save her, that had plagued her enough. But to have been cut down for a sinful lie — the lie was she and her false vocation. She might as well have landed a blow on the altar at Canterbury herself. Her stomach convulsed, and she put a hand to her mouth. How could she ever have thought she was a woman of God?
Around her, they talked on.
“Is it safe for Sisters Amélie and Theodosia to travel to France to see the King, Brother Edward?” said Benedict.
“I believe so.” The monk lit the wick of the open-dished oil lamp. “Come.” He gestured for all to sit round at table as he too sat. “Sister Theodosi
a?” His prompt allowed no delay.
Theodosia complied with weakened limbs, joining her mother.
“Thank you, Brother,” said Amélie. “I hadn’t noted the time slip away. Why, the darkness is almost complete outside.”
“Palmer, sit down,” said Edward.
The knight hung back from the table, standing with his big hands awkwardly at his side. “I don’t think I am fit to share this table, now that I know the truth.” He bowed to Amélie.
“Oh, dear boy.” Amélie gave him a sweet little smile. “I have lived humbly for so many years. It is very important that I am treated as a vowess.” She patted the free stool. “Things must be as before.”
“That’s very important,” said Edward, addressing Theodosia also. “Not a word of this can come out.”
“You have my word.” Benedict sat as directed. “Faith, it’s a shock to have heard it. I’m not sure my mind can make sense of it all.” He bowed his head with the others as Edward said grace, then poured out goblets of wine for himself and Edward. “Indeed, it was a shock to me also,” said Edward, “but a good lesson in finding out that people may not always be who they seem.” He poured water for the women.
Theodosia stared at her piece of bread, appetite gone. How could they all carry on as normal? Talk. Smile. Exchange pleasantries. When her sinful lie of a life had brought death to Canterbury. A liar’s death for Thomas. The words beat like a drum in her head.
“Tell me, Edward,” said Benedict, mouth full as he chewed, “why do you think Theodosia and Sister Amélie are safe to come with us to see the King?”
Edward took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “We have heard Amélie’s story. It’s corroborated by items I found in Archbishop Becket’s papers. Add to that our eyewitness account. You, Sister Theodosia, and I were all there, Palmer. His Grace needs to know that the arrest went wrong, that murder was committed in his name by brutal knights who’d lost control.” He looked round the table. “This is our chance to set the record of history straight and to ensure the King’s name is cleared. That is our God-given duty, isn’t that so?”
Amélie and Benedict murmured their agreement.
E. M. Powell Page 24
