She offered him a tiny smile. "Thank you for asking and not commanding." Her words were little more than a whisper. Then she drew herself up to her tallest and squared her shoulders. "Since the moment of my removal has not yet arrived, I still have the right to offer you welcome in my stepson's home. Please come within and take your ease."
As she shifted to the side so her guests could enter, Edmund breathed out a quiet "Oh." The only thing this cottage shared in common with other peasant abodes was a floor made from bare earth, which generations of feet had walked into rock hardness.
Hidden within these walls was all the opulence Faucon expected of a miller, and that meant chattels aplenty to assess for levying the death tax. Decorating the plastered wall across from them were two tapestries. If their colors were dissimilar, their designs reminded Faucon of the Holy Lands. Two brass-bound chests stood against the wall beneath the tapestries. The smaller of the two was open and items of clothing were draped over its raised lid and sides.
Three well-made chairs, their tall backs looking like half-barrels, were arranged around the hearthstone near the right end of the room. There were no cooking implements near the hearth. That suggested the miller's meals were prepared in one of the outbuildings and carried within doors, just as was done in much grander households.
A yellow and red cupboard, as tall as the wall and finer than anything Faucon's mother owned, was placed where it would be the first thing visitors saw when they entered through the front door. Items crowded its shelves: green ceramic serving platters and bowls, cups made of horn as well as several carved from wood, a large mazer and a number of wooden serving utensils.
The miller slept at the end of the room farthest from the hearth. The curtain that divided the sleeping area from the living area was open. Faucon could see a bed that rivaled the one he now used as his own. A second bed of equal richness stood in the open loft that stretched overhead, the loft's floor reaching about halfway across the main chamber. A ladder, sanded until it gleamed like silk, offered access to this upper sleeping chamber. Judging by the cloth poppet that dangled its arm over the edge of the loft, this was where Stephen and his family found their nightly rest.
The wooden table at the center of the room was sturdy enough to suggest it was left assembled at all times, and not dismantled when it wasn't in use as was done in many other households. The two long benches pushed beneath it offered seating. Various items cluttered the table's surface: a few prettily carved cups, a small trinket box, a pair of shoes, bits of ribbon and head scarves. Agnes was packing.
"Where will you go when you leave here?" Faucon asked.
"I haven't yet decided," Halbert's widow replied quietly.
She picked up the trinket box and carried it to the open chest, turning her back on her guests.
Not waiting for an invitation, Faucon drew out the nearest bench so he and Edmund could sit. They watched their hostess fold the box into a gown, then set it carefully into the chest.
"Perhaps back to Stanrudde," she said at last, her back still to them, "even though I can no longer claim any place there as my own. My mother passed some six months ago, and when I left the city to come to Priors Holston, I sold her home. Perhaps some of her neighbors will remember me kindly and find space for me. Or perhaps I'll travel to Banbury where my sister and her family lives." She sighed. "Although I think I cannot count on a well come from her. We were never close."
"You don't need to leave Priors Holston, you know," Faucon replied. "You could stay if you wished."
Looking over her shoulder at him, she eyed him in sharp surprise. "How can you say that? Only a little while ago Stephen told the whole village that I am no longer welcome in his home. So, go I must. Not that I would stay here with him if he offered. For all he played the obedient child to Halbert, Stephen's ambition eats at him the way Halbert's need for drink consumed him."
"Nay, not Stephen. Simon. If you wished to stay, the fuller would have you," Faucon told her.
That made her smile. Her fondness for her neighbor glowed in her eyes. "So he would," she agreed. "But I won't have him, not when such a match would only be to his detriment. Besides, there's not room for one more body in that house of his," she laughed, then turned back to the chest and began to rearrange the items within it.
The quiet stretched. Edmund shifted uneasily on the bench, seeking the best position from which to study the widow. Faucon sat as he did when he was tracking: still and silent as he waited for the creature he followed to make its next move.
Agnes paused to again look over her shoulder at them. "Do you know how long it will be before Stephen comes to remove me?"
"He told me he expected you gone by day's end," Faucon said. Her stricken look teased him into adding, "But perhaps that's his grief speaking."
"Grief?" she repeated with a harsh laugh. "Greed, more like. Stephen quakes in terror over what piece of his property I might have the right to claim."
Faucon hurried to exploit the opening she'd just offered, daring to ask a question he had no right to pose. "What dower did Halbert promise you?"
Agnes' lips pinched into a tight smile and her brows rose until her expression was the picture of wicked amusement at Stephen's expense. "Absolutely nothing," she said. "I leave here with no more than I brought with me into this marriage."
"Are you saying there was no contract between you and Halbert?" Faucon demanded, no less shocked at hearing Agnes seem to suggest this than he'd been when Stephen had said much of the same.
"Oh aye, we had a contract, albeit not scribed but spoken before a priest." Agnes told him. "In it, Halbert agreed to feed and clothe me, honoring me as his wife. He promised that I would enjoy the comfort of his home, which is indeed comfortable although I cannot precisely say I have enjoyed it. On my part, I gave Halbert a fine tunic as his wedding present, along with my vow to care for him as if we were heart companions, doing so until the end of my days. Or his," she added, then made an irritable sound and shook her head.
"All of this I would have told Stephen, if he'd ever once spoken to me of it. But he preferred to pretend I didn't exist, all the while whining and complaining about how his father refused to discuss our contract with him. I vow I've never seen a pair of more stubborn, hateful men than the two who live here."
Once again, Faucon dared to tread where he had no right to step. "Begging pardon, goodwife, but judging from that eye of yours, as well as the tales Simon relates, you and Halbert were hardly suited. Why did you marry him at all?"
All the animation drained from her face. She returned to the table to claim one of the wooden cups. It was a worthy piece, its narrow stem carved with such skill that it looked as if it were made from living ivy. Bits of shell had been inset along its lip until the rim gleamed iridescent white. She curled her hands around the stem of the cup, her fingers working as if she expected to wring liquid from it.
"It was arranged for us. Halbert and I did not meet until the day of our wedding," she finally said, her voice low and flat. "I place no blame on Halbert for the failure of our union. Nay, that all rests on my shoulders. When my mother passed, I mourned her, but I also looked forward to what I expected would be new freedom after so many years spent caring for others. Imagine my shock when instead of freedom, I discovered only lack of purpose, and rather than pleasant solitude, there was nothing but long lonely hours. That's when I realized caring for others had been the one thing, the only thing that gave my life meaning."
She sighed. "I can look back now and see how the emptiness of my life at that moment left me panicked. My fear was so great that it drove me to react too quickly and without consideration. In an instant, I had concocted the idea that if I could find an older man, one who needed someone to make his waning years comfortable, I would again be safe..." her voice trailed off into another sigh and it was a moment before she continued.
"I was told that Halbert was just the sort of man I sought, one who would care for me if I cared for him," she said. "I
n my desperation and loneliness, I trusted too deeply and believed too swiftly. Shame on me. Needless to say, I now know that even an arranged relationship must be created from something more than a few words spoken before a priest. Its success depends on either previous affection or long familiarity. Or amazing tolerance. All of that was lacking in my union."
She took up the mate to the cup she held and carried the pair back to the chest. Then, removing the smaller of the two tapestries from the wall, she rolled the cups in it and placed the bundle into the chest. After that, she gathered up all the garments cluttering the sides of the chest and tossed them carelessly within it so she could close the lid and use it as a bench.
Once she sat, she continued her tale, brushing her fingertips over the bruised skin around her eye as she spoke. "Before the first week of my marriage to Halbert played out, I knew how great my mistake had been. But by then it was too late. We were wed, and I was trapped."
"What of an annulment?" Faucon asked.
"She's a woman. She can't petition for an annulment," Edmund told him, his harsh voice quiet.
Agnes nodded in agreement. "Your clerk is right. Only a woman's male kinsmen can author such a petition. I have neither brothers nor uncles, and my father is long since gone to his heavenly reward. Even if I had been allowed to petition on my own behalf, I couldn't afford it. I am only a woodcarver's daughter."
"Did you consider seeking refuge in a nunnery?" the monk asked, the tiniest grain of sympathy softening his otherwise flat tone. "Although it would have taken seven years before your marriage was at last dissolved, you would have spent those years safe within God's walls."
She eyed Edmund for a moment, then her head tilted to the side. Her mouth twisted into a smile that was more grimace than grin. A tiny choked laugh escaped her.
"That did occur to me, Brother. Indeed, I spoke of the possibility with the prior at St. Radegund's. I fear Prior Lambertus did not find me to be of the right temperament to take up residence in a holy house. Nor would he allow me to plead barrenness as a way to escape my marriage. This, even though I am past five-and-thirty and have never once felt the stirring of life within my womb."
Faucon's brows rose at that. A fruitless marriage could be dissolved without prejudice, since the production of children was the point of wedlock. "What reason did he give for refusing?"
"This is—was my first, my only marriage," she replied, stumbling over her words. "Because of that, the prior said I must wait. He said that old Queen Eleanor had brought forth a son at my same age. He felt there was still hope God might grant me children. Now, just how he thought that might happen is beyond me, since Halbert refused to do his marital duty. Such concourse had not been addressed in our contract." Agnes gave another sharp laugh, her amusement aimed at the impossibility of the trap that had held her so tightly until only a few hours ago.
Faucon heard the story she told them, but also heard the tale she wasn't telling. A whore, Halbert had accused. A woodcarver's aging and unwed daughter, a woman who had lived with her mother and had no apparent livelihood of her own.
Yet, if putting that tapestry into her chest hadn't been an act of theft, Agnes laid claim to an exotic piece from a distant land, an item with a value far beyond that most knights could afford. Also, she had not pleaded to the prior that she was virgin still, when protesting her childless state, or he would have had no choice but to dissolve the union. Lastly, someone had arranged for her to marry a wealthy miller, someone so powerful that the miller had accepted her even though he'd told others he never again intended to wed.
"Did he arrange the marriage for you?" Faucon dared to ask.
"Did who arrange her marriage?" Edmund glanced between his employer and Halbert's widow.
Agnes stared at her shire's new servant of the crown. Gone was any pretense of feminine humility. Instead, she reminded Faucon of Alf, her expression bold and blank, and as hard as stone. In that instant she didn't look the beaten wife of Simon's tale, but a wise and willful woman, more than capable of caring for herself.
"I cannot see how the arrangement of my marriage matters to anyone, especially now that I am widowed," she finally said.
It was all Faucon needed to follow the trail left by the information she had unwittingly scattered about her as she spoke. Although unremarkable in personality and plain in feature, Agnes had once been a rich man's leman. That man, whoever he was, had kept his lover well, for as long as he had kept her. Then, when Agnes found herself in need of another man to support her, her former lover had found one for her, albeit much to her detriment.
"I suppose you're right," he offered with a smile, seeking to smooth the feathers he'd just ruffled. "Still, I think whoever brought you and Halbert together owes you at least an apology."
She said nothing, only kept her now-hard gaze fastened on Faucon. He read it in her eyes. If he pressed for any more information about the man who had aided her in forming her marriage, she would end their conversation. That wouldn't do, not when he had other questions begging for answers.
"Tell me about Alf," Faucon said. "Simon Fuller says he sent both you and Alf to Susanna the Alewife's house last night. Is that true? Were you there together?"
She blinked. She hadn't expected him to retreat. "We were."
"The whole night?" Faucon pressed.
A soft crease appeared between her brows. "I cannot speak for Alf's presence after I closed my eyes last night. All I can tell you is that he was yet seated at Susanna's table when I found my pallet near her hearth. Although I cannot name the hour, it was full dark by then."
"What was his mood?"
That crease between her brows deepened until she eyed him in startled curiosity. "His mood? What does his mood matter?"
"Simon tells me that last night after you left for Susanna's, Alf joined him at the race, seeking to calm Halbert," Faucon said. "However, Simon wouldn't allow Alf to either take Halbert into the house or to the mill. The fuller said he feared Halbert might try to hurt Alf in some way. That's why he sent him after you to your alewife's establishment. I'm curious about Alf's thinking, why he resisted leaving Halbert alone at the mill when everyone, even Stephen, speaks of how violent the miller could be when he was besotted."
"Do you not think you should be asking this of Alf?" Her tone was guarded.
"I did," Faucon replied, with a shrug to suggest Alf had refused to speak with him. It wasn't precisely the truth, but it served.
"Ah," Agnes breathed in understanding, and her expression relaxed as she recognized safe ground. "Alf is not one for spilling more words than is necessary, as you have discovered. Nor can I give you any insight as to his thinking. What I can tell you is that Simon was right to make him leave. Halbert's purpose for drinking last night was to fuel his rage."
"Purpose?" Faucon asked in surprise. "Does a man need a purpose to drink?"
That teased a grim smile from her. "It may not be the same for other men, but Halbert was most definitely a purposeful sot. Until he put ale in his belly, he wasn't able to use more than words as his cudgel. The ale freed him to use his fists. Last night, the one Halbert really wanted to beat was Stephen. He was furious with his son for leaving him when there was so much work to be done. Before Stephen departed yestermorn, Halbert had all but come to blows with him as he tried to force his son to remain home rather than stay the week with 'Wina."
"Stephen told his father he wished to stay a week with his wife's people?" Faucon interrupted.
Agnes gave a shake of her head. "That I cannot say. All I heard was Halbert ranting over Stephen leaving for a sennight. More to the point, it was the first time since my arrival here that I'd seen Stephen stand his ground against his father's wishes. No brutal word Halbert threw at him, no threat of violence or disinheritance could shake him. I think this is something Stephen hasn't often done. For the remainder of the day after Stephen departed, I could see Halbert's disbelief in the way he kept watching the lane. It was as if he expected his son to return at
any moment, simply because Halbert willed it to be so."
"Huh," Faucon said, considering. "Simon believes Halbert would have taken his fists to Alf last night. Would Halbert have done so to ease what boiled in him?" Then, before she had a chance to respond, he added, "From what I've seen of your workman, he hardly seems the type to bow his head and meekly allow even his master to beat him."
Agnes gave a scornful snort. "I am certain Halbert would have tried to beat Alf. And, although Simon had no way of knowing this, I'm equally certain Halbert would never have landed a blow, not unless Alf allowed it. Unlike Stephen and me, Alf had no reason to tolerate Halbert's abuse, since there was never a consequence for him if he resisted. Of all the folk in this household, Halbert likes—liked Alf best, as much as he could be fond of anyone. You see, Alf had been a soldier once, just as Halbert had been."
Faucon wasn't surprised by this revelation. "So Alf isn't a runaway serf?"
His question startled honest amusement out of her. Untainted by any other emotion, her laugh was merry, the sparkling sound suggesting a far more intriguing woman hid behind her plain features.
"Of all things! A serf? Who told you that?" she demanded, still smiling.
"Simon," Faucon replied with an answering smile and a shrug.
Again she laughed. "Well, at least I now understand why Simon insisted that Alf go to Susanna's. Simon has close experience of those who suffer under abusive and forced servitude. His wife nearly died at her former lord's hands before she escaped to find a new home here in Priors Holston. As soft-hearted as Simon is, I wager he couldn't bear to think of Halbert misusing Alf. I'd also wager that Simon isn't the only one in this village who's been conjuring up tales of Alf's past. Folk bend toward those sorts of ideas when a stranger arrives and is as secretive as Alf. I had my own ideas about him until I finally spoke to 'Wina," she added.
As he'd been busy concocting his own tale around Alf, Faucon couldn't resist asking. "Is that so? And what was it you were thinking of him?"
Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) Page 11
