by Linda Sole
Marta turned her head to look at him. ‘Have you been on a pilgrimage, Will?’
‘I was taken to Compostela when I was ten years of age. My mother died in great agony of a wasting sickness and my father considered he had sinned. He never reached our journey’s end for he was taken ill in France. The Hospitallers took us in and cared for us, but my father died.’
‘How terrible for you, alone and no more than ten years old.’
‘I was eleven when he died. We had endured much on our travels. I considered myself a man and I completed the journey alone, or rather with a band of pilgrims I met up with on the road. Besides, there were the Templars and the Hospitallers to help me on my way. I was not the only child alone on that road – and it taught me to be independent and to love travelling for the sake of it.’
Marta was about to reply but she saw that Will was bringing the cart to a halt. Ahead of them a fair had set up in the field; peddlers, travelling minstrels, fire-eater’s and country folk had laid out their wares. She could hear a piper playing, children screaming and the noise of animals that had been penned and were available for sale.
‘Get down and take the child. She has never seen anything like this and she will be excited.’ Will put his hand in his pouch and brought out two silver pennies. ‘Buy her a treat. I have some business and will do it best alone. I shall be waiting here when the church bell tolls four.’
‘Do you not wish to sample the hot pies and sweetmeats?’
‘I told you, I have business,’ Will said. ‘Go and enjoy yourself, Marta. Look for me at four bells.’
Marta nodded, feeling disappointed. He had given her two pennies for the child but she had thought he meant to enjoy the delights of the fair with her. She supposed he had leather goods he wished to sell and sighed as she took the child’s hand. There would be sweetmeats the like of which Mary had never tasted and she seldom enough. She could find plenty to do to amuse both herself and the child until it was time to meet Will. Yet she would have enjoyed his company.
She lifted Mary down, taking her hand and walking towards the stalls and the people thronging the meadow. Will was a hard man to understand. Marta did not know whether or not he was to be trusted but she did know that she wanted him to stay and not just because of the rent he paid her.
TWENTY FOUR
Mother Beatrice walked along the cots set out in a row in the infirmary. Three of her sister nuns had gone down with the same sickness in the past few days and she thought that one or two more might be suffering the early symptoms. It was worrying because she had tried all the simple cures she knew and the women seemed no better. As yet she had not taken the sickness herself, even though she visited the patients each day hoping for improvement.
‘How is our little novice coming along, Sister Agnes?’ she asked as the nursing sister came up to her. ‘She was burning up when I visited her yesterday. I had hoped she might have turned the corner by now.’
‘I fear she is no better, Mother.’ Sister Agnes looked worried. ‘Indeed, I think her worse. The fever passed last night and I thought she would begin to recover but she is listless and seems to have no life in her.’
‘We must pray for her soul.’ Beatrice forced herself to reply in the expected manner. Life and death was in the hands of God. She had no right to interfere in these things. She could offer prayer for Patience’s soul but not for her recovery, and yet she was fond of the novice and something inside her fought against calm acceptance of her death. ‘Please tell me if she seems worse.’
Returning to her cell, Beatrice prayed for guidance. She could not help remembering that Prior Peter had spoken of an apothecary who was able to cure many illnesses that had been thought beyond the powers of mortal man. Yet the belief that it was wrong to interfere and that God was both the giver and taker of life were strong in her.
‘Please give me Thy guidance,’ Beatrice prayed. ‘Patience does not always follow her name. She runs when she should walk and she talks when she should be silent, but she has a good and true heart. Is it Your will that she take her vows and live to praise Thy glory? Or do You wish her to come to Thy house, O Lord?’
Rising to her feet a little later, Beatrice did not feel the usual calm that prayer brought her. She was anxious for the novice and something in her rebelled against letting the young woman die. If Prior Peter approved of the apothecary there was no reason why she too should not avail herself of his cures. It was not for her own sake but for the comfort and good health of the sisters in her charge.
Making up her mind, she sent for Sister Selina. The nun was in charge of the small cart and the old pony they used to transport supplies to and from the village. They were sufficient in most things and often had surplus to trade when they needed commodities they could not grow or make themselves.
‘You sent for me, Mother?’ the nun asked when she knocked and then entered.
‘Yes, Sister Selina. Tomorrow I shall need the cart. You will drive me to the house of the apothecary Nicholas Malvern. I wish to consult him about the sickness that is afflicting so many of us.’
Sister Selina stared at her in disbelief. It was not often that Mother Abbess left the sanctuary of the convent. The suggestion that the devout nun intended to seek help with the sickness that had come upon them was unprecedented but welcome since two of the sisters seemed close to death.
‘Yes, Mother. I shall bring the cart round after you have broken your fast.’
‘I shall go as soon as prayers are said. It will not harm me to go without breaking my fast until the evening meal.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
Sister Selina did not look too happy about being forced to go without her own breakfast but could not deny her superior. Beatrice had decided that it was a small penance for what she had decided to do.
She made the sign of the cross over herself as the door closed behind the nun. ‘Forgive me if I question Thy will,’ she murmured. ‘But it can serve no purpose if my sisters die. We are here to worship and serve You, Lord. If something can be done to alleviate our suffering it cannot be a sin – for the power of life and death remains with You.’
Beatrice was uncomfortably aware that she was trying to strike a bargain with God but she could not stand by and watch her sisters die if there were some way to save them.
TWENTY FIVE
Nicholas watched as Anne sat at her embroidery. She said that she was making a hanging for his bedchamber and the scene depicted a minstrel playing a lute from what he had seen so far. Of late she had done fine work that matched anything he had ever seen in the houses of the nobility and in the cathedrals and great churches of the land. Anne seemed content enough as she worked, yet there was something about her that made him think she was sad. His conscience smote him, because if she were truly the Countess Devereaux he had no right to keep her here. His house was a good size and comfortable in its way but it was not the house of a nobleman. They did not entertain or go into company, and she must have been used to the company of her ladies.
‘I am a little tired,’ Anne said and stood up, placing her needlework in the wicker basket he had recently purchased for her use. It was just a small gift but it had seemed to please her. ‘I think I shall make sure Iolanthe is resting before I retire.’
‘She was sleeping when I looked a short time ago,’ Nicholas smiled as Anne walked from the room, the sweet scent of her perfume wafting towards him. She made her own perfumes and creams from flowers and other ingredients in her stillroom. When she needed something for her work, he sent to York and had it delivered on the carrier’s cart. He would do anything for her but he feared that it could never be enough. Always, there was a sadness in her that never quite left her. Was he wrong to keep her here when she might have a husband she loved?
He could not bear to give her up. Nicholas had resisted the temptation that came to him as he lay in his bed at night. To ease the burning need deep inside him, he had worked harder than ever sitting into the dark hours of the ni
ght at his journals or mixing new preparations, but still the hunger for her gnawed at his insides. Perhaps if he resisted the need no harm would be done. He knew that she looked at him with regret sometimes and he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her of his love – but he had no right. To lie with her knowing that they were not joined in marriage would be a sin – a sin he could easily bear, but could she?
Nicholas sat on in the hall by the warmth of the hearth for a while longer. Before he went up, he made certain that the embers were safe and would not flare up overnight. Fires happened too often and in old houses like this, in which there was a significant amount of wood, it could be very dangerous.
Before he went to his bedchamber, next to Anne’s, he looked into the kitchen. The fire there was contained in a metal grate and had burned low. Griszelda sat nodding in a chair with a high back and arms that he had provided for her. The other servants had long since sought their beds but the old woman would not lie down on her mattress, because she feared that if she did she would not rise again. He suspected that she was a great age, though she did not know herself how many years she had lived. She thought it might be a score and ten or even more but as she could not reckon, even on her fingers, there was no way of telling. Had she not come to his door she would probably have been in her grave before this night, because she was too old to work for her bread.
She opened her eyes and looked at him as he lingered. He smiled inwardly. There was a kind of truce between them. Griszelda neither liked or approved of him but she knew that she owed her comfort to his generosity and held her tongue in his presence.
‘Is there anything you require, Griszelda?’ he asked, as he did every night. She shook her head but made no answer. ‘When you ask me I can give you something to ease the pain.’
Her eyes glittered with denial as she looked at him. Nicholas inclined his head and left her to nod by the dying fire. He never tried to force his cures on anyone, though he knew that certain preparations rubbed into her aching limbs could ease her.
Walking upstairs to his own chamber, Nicholas lit his candles and sat down to read. He had recently acquired a new herbal dictionary and was curious to see if there was anything within its pages that was unknown to him, though he doubted it for his studies had been long and exhaustive. However, he was always willing to learn from others. He believed that there were many undiscovered plants that might have healing properties. If God had made all things, including the diseases that made so many people’s life a misery, then why should he not also have made something that would cure these ills?
The candle had burned halfway down when he heard the scream from Anne’s room. Jumping up hastily, he went through the connecting door wondering what had made her cry out. The light from his candle showed him that she was dreaming, tossing and turning on her pillows, her arms flung out as if in supplication.
‘Do not leave me…’ she cried. ‘I beg you stay. I fear…I fear…’ She shook her head, moaning. ‘My death…if you go, Robert…’
Nicholas felt the chill trickle down his spine. She was dreaming of her past life. Would she recall her dream when she woke? Had she dreamed like this before? He stood where he was and watched her, undecided whether it would be best to leave her to her dream or wake her. Even as he debated with himself, Anne’s eyes opened suddenly and she saw him. For a moment she looked puzzled, then she smiled and held out a hand to him. He set the candle down on a coffer and walked towards her.
‘You were dreaming, Anne. I heard you cry out and came to see if something ailed you, but I think it was just a dream. Do you remember what you dreamt?’
Anne frowned, gazing at him for a moment in silence. ‘I think I was lost. It was dark and cold and I did not know where to go…’ She shivered. ‘I thought I had been abandoned but that is foolish for you are here, my husband. I know that I am safe when you are near by. Please stay with me for a while.’
Nicholas was drawn to her bed against all caution. He hesitated and then sat on the edge, reaching for her hand. She gave hers to him willingly and he stroked his finger over her palm.
‘I am sorry you were frightened. You know that I would protect you from all harm if I could?’
‘Yes, of course I know it, Nicholas.’ His hand reached out to her face, pressing the palm against her so that he cradled her cheek. She turned into his caress like a kitten asking for affection and he felt a surge of hot desire. She was so warm and beautiful and he wanted to lie with her. ‘Why do you never come to me, Nicholas? We must have lain together before I was ill for we have Iolanthe. Have I displeased you in some way?’
‘You could never displease me. Do you not know that you and Iolanthe are my whole world? I have my work and it gives me much satisfaction when I can help someone to feel well again – but you are the sunshine in my darkness. You give me reason to live and breathe.’
‘Then why do you not want me? I thought when you kissed me you wanted me but weeks have passed and still you have not come to me.’
‘Foolish Anne.’ Nicholas drew a shuddering breath. ‘I want you more than you can ever know. At this moment I want you so badly that I can scarcely keep myself from lying with you.’
‘Why do you abstain? I love you, Nicholas. You are my husband. Will you not show me your love in this way?’
‘You almost died when the child was born…’ he prevaricated, knowing that it was a weak excuse. She was well now and had been for many months. If she were in truth his wife he would have come to her long before this. He had stayed away because to take advantage of her loss of memory would be despicable. Yet now, with her eyes pleading with him, he felt his will melting in the heat of desire. Anne had not remembered in all these months, it was unlikely that she would. Should he allow her to waste her life in regret? If he refused her now she would be hurt; she would think that he did not love her. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, Anne?’
‘Quite sure.’ She drew back the covers inviting him into her bed. All his resistance fled. He had loved and wanted her for such a long time. ‘Come to me, husband. I am lonely without you.’
Nicholas could not refuse her. He unfastened the ties that held his gown, letting it fall away from his body. He was as well formed as any man, but his legs were covered with deep scars, besides the thick welts she had seen on his back. Anne touched them with her fingertips, tracing them gently as she looked at him.
‘Did you fear to show me these? Is that why you held back? What happened to you, Nicholas? You must have told me once but I have forgotten.’
‘I was tortured and beaten for my beliefs. The scar on my face was made by hot irons, and the pain worse than I have words to describe. I should have died in the fire for I was to be burned as a heretic but someone helped me. One of my guards took pity on me. I had saved the life of his child and he was grateful. He loosened the bonds that tied my hands, and when they came to take me to the fire, I overpowered my guards and escaped. Once I was free I had friends who helped me to leave the country. I changed my name and came here to England to begin a new life.’
‘Where did you come from?’ Her eyes were softy with love and pity for his hurts.
‘Italy. I was Count Niccolai Malvolia. It was an easy matter to change a few letters and become what I am today – an English freeman.’
‘You were a nobleman in your country?’ She nodded as she understood. ‘Your friend…Signor Fedora. You knew him in Italy.’
‘I have many friends from many lands.’
‘There is so much I do not remember – so much I would know of you. Will you not remind me?’
‘I had managed to send some of my wealth to France and England before I was accused by someone who hated me, and tried for heresy and sorcery.’
‘The man who betrayed you – he is the man who wants that book, is he not?
‘Yes, he is my cousin and my enemy.’ Nicholas stroked her face with the tips of his fingers. ‘I have lived quietly here, trying not to attract attention. It is the reason
I do not flaunt my wealth or entertain men who are my equals.’ He paused, looking into her eyes. ‘ There is nothing in this to bother you, Anne? You are not disturbed by the sight of my scars, or what I have told you?’
‘No.’ She ran her hands over his shoulders, encountering the deeper scars on his back. ‘You have been treated harshly. I am sorry for the pain you suffered and the way people speak of you, Nicholas. I know your heart is good. If people understood what you do they might not fear you so much.’
‘How can they understand when they are taught not to question but to follow blind superstition?’ He smiled and bent his head to kiss her, his hand moving over her smooth thigh. ‘We should not talk of these things now, my love. You are beautiful and good and I shall try always to please you.’
‘I love you,’ she whispered, offering her lips and her body to his tender caress. ‘Now that you have come to me and shared your secrets I shall not be sad. I have lost nothing that you cannot give me back again.’
As Nicholas stroked and caressed her, she trembled, body arching as the passion mounted between them, and when he entered her she gave a cry of pleasure, meeting his urgent thrust, matching his urgency. Her nails raked lightly over his shoulders, her moans making him drive harder. His hand caressed her thigh and breast, sliding over the smooth curve of her hip. He pressed his face into the sweet mounds of her breast as the spasm shook him and he spilled his seed inside her, murmuring her name.
‘Nicholas, I love you.’
‘I adore and worship you, my sweet lovely Anne.’
For a long time they lay together, touching, kissing lightly, passion spent, and then Anne smiled and closed her eyes. She fell asleep as Nicholas held her, her face against his chest. He inhaled her perfume and listened to her soft breathing, as he stared into the darkness.
