“True repentance is not nonsense, Sir Palmer,” she said. “At least I can say I am a sinner, and can spend my life seeking forgiveness. You too need to do the same, or your soul will be damned for all eternity.”
Not a spark of recognition for their time together. None of the last days and nights, where they’d fought so hard for each other. When he’d held her, kissed her, when she’d slept in his arms. “Then I’m just a poor sinner, am I?” he said.
“You are.” Cold as ice.
Amélie prayed on, lost in her devotion.
Edward cleared his throat and clinked his metal rosary beads.
“If you’re not going to join us, Sir Palmer,” said Theodosia, “then perhaps you could leave us in peace until the boat sails.”
“Whatever you say, Sister,” he said, his voice a low growl of fury. “You can all pray. I need to drink.”
He stormed out, with a slam of the door that echoed through the whole building.
♦ ♦ ♦
Palmer strode down the first narrow alleyway he came to, the lights and noise of an alehouse at its end calling to him. He entered the crowded house, thirst for ale, and lots of it, on his tongue.
The server at the counter filled flagon after flagon, while another man carried them to the packed benches.
Palmer nodded to the server, who filled a vessel in readiness. He put his hand in his pocket to take out his payment. Forcurse it. He hadn’t a bean. His pocket held only the little wooden cross he’d traded his dagger for earlier. He turned quickly on his heel and left again. The ale server would be either annoyed or pitying, or both, once he saw Palmer had no money. Palmer couldn’t face either reaction, he’d seen too much of it as a boy. He’d rather walk the streets while he waited for the boat, cold as the night was.
His angry pace would keep his blood moving, if nothing else. He made his way along, Theodosia’s rejection of him an ache in his chest. Though the hour was late, people still walked here and there, some talking in tongues he didn’t recognize, and with faces he’d only ever seen on distant campaigns. Carts rumbled past him, while workers filled and emptied open warehouses by the light of lamps and candles. The world carried on as before, but for him without Theodosia, it might as well have stopped.
As he turned yet another corner, he saw Edward and Amélie pass by, bundles in hand. They must be headed for the boat. He gave a curt wave, but they didn’t see him.
Palmer filled his lungs but stopped his call. If they’d set off, Theodosia may well be at the hostel still. It was his last chance to try and speak to her alone.
He soon climbed the stairs of Saint Michael’s hostel. The door to the room in which Edward had heard Theodosia’s confession stood open, lit with meager candlelight.
With quiet steps, he went to the doorway.
Theodosia crouched on the floor, scooping at something with her hand.
“Brother Edward has you cleaning his floors for him now?”
She shot to her feet, hands closed around whatever she’d collected. “Oh, Ben — Sir Palmer. You did startle me.”
“I didn’t mean to, Theodosia. Can you forgive me, or should I add it to my list of sins?”
She flushed at his heavy sarcasm. “That is entirely up to you and your conscience, sir knight.”
“Benedict.” He walked in and stood in front of her. “My name is Benedict. You’ve used it often enough. You don’t have to stop.”
“Yes, I do. Like I have to stop speaking to you, being with you. It is part of my penance.”
“Penance for what?”
“For Fitzurse’s death.” Her gray eyes wouldn’t hold his gaze. “For my fornication with you.”
Palmer snorted. “Fitzurse brought his end on himself. It was what he deserved.” He gripped her by the shoulders with both hands and forced her to look at him. “He was going to kill you and your mother. Same as he did to Becket, and God knows how many other innocent souls.” He tightened his grip. “He was going to cook you alive, Theodosia. So seek all the forgiveness you want. I think I know God’s mind on this judgment.”
She squirmed in his grasp. “Unhand me, you blasphemer.”
He held her with ease. “Not blasphemy — the truth. And the other truth is, we did not fornicate. We had pleasure. Not sin. And it was what you wanted, asked me for, and it was my deepest happiness to share it with you. You said yourself your vocation was a lie. But here you are, back in the clothing of that lie.”
“It was Satan telling me it was a lie, trying to get me to stray from the path to heaven. He nearly succeeded, made me believe I was something I am not, and he used you to do it.”
“Let me guess: Brother Edward told you that? The smug, arrogant — ”
“He did in confession, which means he is the voice of God.”
“He’s twisted your mind.”
“He has shown me the truth.” She strained to break his hold again. “It is your soul that is filled with poison, Sir Palmer. I will pray for it, pray that you can be saved. I shall do that to add to my penance.”
“I don’t want to be saved. I want you to have the life you deserve.”
“It is the life of a servant of God, Sir Palmer.” Her brow creased in anguish. “Now, I beg you, let me go. Every moment you have your hands on me is another sin for me to repent.”
“There’s no sin in my touch.” He held her tighter, shook her to hammer home his words. “Why can’t you listen to me?”
“Benedict, you’re hurting me!”
He froze, breathing hard, her cry pulling him back to sense.
“Let me go, Sir Palmer.” The extra meaning her words carried was plain as day.
Palmer dropped his hold. Sadness and loss waged war with the anger inside him. “I’ll go to my grave swearing you’re making the wrong decision. You can repent without burying yourself away in the church for the rest of your life. And it plagues me to think that I’m part of the reason you would want to do that.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the little cross. “I know it’s a poor swap for the cross I took from you — it was all I could manage. But I give it to you as I gave you my heart: with every good wish, and never to cause you ill, never to be the mark of sin on your soul.”
“Then Sir Palmer, I thank you for your gracious gesture.” She reached to take it in a quick movement, hand curled over what she already held.
“What’s that in your hands?” he said.
“It is nothing.” She went bright pink and shoved the cross into her pocket.
He grabbed her other fist and pried it open, ignoring her protests. Clumps of her soft, beautiful hair lay on her open palm.
“What have you done?” He looked at her aghast.
“I said, it is nothing.”
“Stop lying, Theodosia. And if you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll rip that cursed wimple right off your head, so I can see for myself.”
Her hands shot to protect her headdress, and her shorn hair scattered. “Brother Edward did it. It is part of my penance. To remind me of my broken vows.”
Rage surged in Palmer’s chest. “I’ll kill him.”
“You cannot say anything. I should not even be talking to you anymore.”
“You said part of your penance. What else?”
“That is between me and my confessor.” She bent to the floor once more to pick up her fallen hair.
As she did so, her woolen dress slipped to one side on her right shoulder to reveal soft white skin reddened by the coarse material. The sight hit Palmer like a punch to his guts. “He’s got you to mortify your flesh, hasn’t he?”
“It is what I deserve.” She stood up once more and readjusted her dress without meeting his eye.
“No, it isn’t. The man’s a bully. This isn’t penance. This is an abomination. It has to stop. At once.”
“No, Sir Palmer.”
Her firm tone took him aback.
“My body, while shared with you for one time of madness, is mine and God’s. What I do with i
t is between me and Him. None of it is your concern. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do. But I refuse to accept it.”
Heavy footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and Edward’s voice floated up. “Are you ready, Sister?”
Dread showed in her face. “Please do not make it worse. Please.”
He couldn’t do it. He turned to address Edward as the monk appeared in the doorway.
Edward’s glance flew from one to the other. “Sister, I can’t believe you consort with this man — ”
“Leave her alone, Edward. I came back to meet you here and found you gone. The sister here only told me you’d walked with Sister Amélie to the boat. Nothing untoward has taken place.” Except what you’ve done to my Theodosia, you filthy devil. If it wouldn’t have made things worse for her, he’d have punched Edward’s lights out there and then.
“I’m very relieved to hear it,” said Edward. “Now, make haste in gathering your things. We need to leave.”
“Yes, Brother.” Theodosia kept her head bowed, meek.
Palmer straightened and challenged the monk with his gaze. “I have no need to gather anything. All I have are the clothes that I stand up in. Which I will pay you back for,” he added, before Edward could respond.
“Then God be praised for traveling light,” said Theodosia.
Edward’s attention switched to her. “Indeed. If we’re ready, let’s set our faces for France.”
France. Henry. Palmer vowed to make it his business to advise the King of Edward’s sickening treatment of Theodosia. He, Palmer, might have lost her forever to the church. To stomach that was bad enough. But allow another man to use her for his own ends? Never.
CHAPTER 29
Stood on the rear deck of the heavily laden Stella Maris, Theodosia watched the port of Southampton recede into the distance. Its noise and business had faded to a sprinkle of lights against the darkness of the mainland. Above, the crescent moon sat in a sky frosted with a million stars.
A couple of yards away, the captain, Jacob Donne, stood at the tiller, absorbed in steering his craft. The other three crew members had gone below as soon as the ship had caught the tide and was under way.
“You should go below, Sister,” said Donne. “It’s powerful cold up here after a while.”
“I should like to stay for a little while longer if I may.” She gestured to the dark water. “I never realized the sea was this big.” She felt foolish as she said it, but Donne nodded in acknowledgment.
“Not seen it before?” he said.
“No, and I never will again.”
“Then make the most of it. Mind, what you see here might look big, but it’s still the harbor. Once we get out onto the open water, ’tis like there’s no end to it.”
Her mother emerged from the ladder that led below and climbed out with care.
“Oh, my goodness.” Amélie tottered to join Theodosia and clutched for the rounded wooden rail. “It’s so unsteady.”
“It’s fine, Mama. There is scarcely a movement.”
“Then you must get your sea legs from your father,” said Amélie. “Believe me, there’s plenty moving.”
Theodosia drew in a deep, slow breath through her nostrils. The fresh, salty sea air, so different out here compared with the rank smells of the port, came as sheer delight. It was clean, pure. Like she would be.
“We have a meal waiting below,” said Amélie. “Brother Edward sent me up to fetch you.”
Theodosia tore her gaze from the ebony ocean and the mirrored moon with reluctance. Were she given a choice, she would stay up here all night. But it wasn’t only the appeal of the sea keeping her from her meal. When she went below, she would have to face Benedict, be in his company, yet remain utterly aloof. It seemed an impossible task. When she’d rejected him in the hostel, his dark eyes had blazed with anger. But she’d also seen hurt, pain, bewilderment. If she could have, she would have taken him in her arms, consoled him, comforted him. She could not. She’d chosen her path, made her promises to God. Benedict would have to heal alone, and, Lord help her, so would she.
Her mother staggered and gasped as she crossed the deck. Close behind, the sway of the ship beneath Theodosia’s feet felt completely natural. Her body seemed to know how to handle the pitch and roll as if by instinct. Maybe this did come from her father.
She waited as her mother climbed below, then swung around to follow. Her father. The King. She’d see him in a couple of days. Her heart tripped faster. She wasn’t sure which made her more nervous, Henry’s being her sovereign or being the father she’d never known.
The smell of boiled fish wafted from a small room to her left. Her mother entered first, and she followed.
Benedict and Edward were already seated in heavy silence, elbows propped on the table. An oil lamp suspended from a ceiling hook swung gently above them and sent shadows to and fro across their faces.
“At last. Civil company.” Benedict raised a full goblet to them. “Good evening to you, Sisters.”
“Good evening,” said Amélie with a final lurch for her seat.
Theodosia frowned to herself as she took her place. Both men were drinking, a large stone wine bottle at each of their elbows. But Benedict must have consumed a great deal. His face shone with sweat, and he had a foolish, set look on his face. He glanced at her briefly, then looked away, his expression unaltered.
Edward too had a goblet of wine but seemed well in control of himself.
A large covered pottery dish sat on the table, along with four small bread trenchers. Edward reached forward and removed the lid, releasing a cloud of fishy steam that he savored with a long sniff. “Now let us say our grace, because the Lord needs to be thanked for such a wonderful feast.”
Once thanks had been made, he served each person in turn.
Theodosia accepted hers with a bowed head, keen to avoid Benedict’s gaze. The plain boiled fillet of mullet sat grayish and plain on the trencher, clear liquid leaking from it. She set to eating the unappetizing repast. While she was hungry, she was also in a state of utter discomfort. She longed to be able to shed her overtight wimple and belt and rid herself of the plaguing wool dress.
“It is indeed godly, plain food,” said Edward. “Surprising when you think what an unholy place Southampton is. I’ve never seen so many strange folk.”
“Happen you look strange to them,” came Benedict’s sharp response.
Theodosia raised her gaze.
Brother Edward’s green eyes narrowed at Benedict, and Theodosia tensed for his reply.
“Well, it was certainly strange to us, Sir Palmer,” Amélie intervened quickly. “But you must have seen many places like it.”
“More than I’d ever want, Sister Amélie.”
Theodosia relaxed a mite as Benedict responded to her mother with courtesy.
He took a long drink before he continued. “As a working knight, I’ve had to go wherever I’d be paid. I’ve been where the snow and ice could bury a man. Where the sun’s so fierce, it’s burned the people black.”
“You mean like a Saracen?” said her mother, eyes wide.
“No, much, much darker,” he said.
She shuddered. “Poor things.”
“They seemed happy enough,” he said. “But they spoke in strange tongues, so it was impossible to know.”
“Then they’ll be heathens,” said Edward. “Happy in this world, maybe, but in the fires of hell for all eternity.” He too took a long drink. “Burned even more, with no end to it.”
Benedict smacked his beaker down onto the tabletop. “You know what’s in every man’s heart, do you? How God will judge them?”
“I know that only the godly can be saved. No one else will.” Edward shot him a glance. “Until you mend your ways and repent, that means you too, Palmer.”
“Then I’ll see out eternity with the Saracens and the savages. I’d prefer their company to yours any day.”
Edward looked thoroughly shocked, but Ben
edict laughed aloud as he took another drink. “Faith, Edward, you’re an easy man to rile.” His dark eyes crinkled at the edges, as they always did when he smiled, and he pushed back his unruly dark hair. In this light, his teeth glowed white against the shadows of his weathered skin.
A sudden wave of utter longing swept over Theodosia. Benedict was like the sea: wild, untamed. A force of nature. Edward was the direct opposite. Calm, controlled, contained. Like she was once and had to be again. Mortified at her flash of desire, she stabbed at her bland fish with her eating knife. Her choice was made, and she should rejoice in her soul that she’d chosen wisely.
“I’m not even going to answer such fool’s talk,” said Edward. “How is your food, Sisters?”
“Most welcome,” said Amélie. “Well prepared, and a modest amount, with no inflaming herbs.”
Theodosia nodded her agreement, though the stuff was foul.
“As we are well prepared,” said Edward. “We will be with the King the day after tomorrow. I’ve already written the account of Becket’s murder to present to him.”
“I pray it will be kindly received,” said Amélie. “But, knowing Henry, there will be no fear of that.”
“There’s never a fear of truth,” said Edward. “God will indeed be on our side.” He refilled his goblet and leaned to top up Benedict’s once more.
“When did you write it, Brother Edward?” said Theodosia, keen to distract herself from her treacherous thoughts.
“Over the last ten days,” said Edward. “I did it as quickly as possible. I think the soul of my lord Becket himself guided my hand.”
Theodosia considered his words. “You have given a correct account of Sir Palmer’s involvement?”
Edward paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Are you questioning my competence with the quill, Sister?”
“No, not at all.” All eyes were on her and flustered her. “Only that Sir Palmer’s part…changed as events unfolded.”
“You don’t need to worry on Sir Palmer’s account,” said Edward with irritation. “I’ve spent many hours compiling it.”
E. M. Powell Page 29
