by Hawke, Jessa
“It’s a man’s world.”
Beatrice felt compelled to defend her friend, “Aye, it is. But I’m doing just fine.”
“Your tits are the tools of your success, Beatrice. If you were fat like Matilda,” Peter held his hands apologetically to Matilda. “No offense. But I doubt you would be working here.”
“I should break you in two and feed you to the pigs.”
“God is my witness. I’m only telling the truth.”
Beatrice pulled Matilda back who appeared ready to throw a punch at the chamberlain. Beatrice then glared at Peter. “If the Baron was only interested in looks, then how did you get a job here..? Your face makes a leper’s backside look handsome.”
“Wow. I’ve been called many things during my time. But never have I been called a leper’s backside before. You have an inventive tongue, Bea.”
“You never used to be such a horrible scrotum. I think this all has to do with your obsession with me.”
The door opened and William stepped into the great hall. He glanced at Peter then clicked his fingers. “Peter.”
“Yes my Liege.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. I’m going to organise the furnishings myself.”
Peter bowed his head. “Oh... Whatever you deem best.”
“You can go and busy yourself in the vegetable garden as I believe it needs weeding.”
“It’s raining hailstones that are the size of small catapult shot.”
William nonchalantly shrugged. “And you waste my time with this inaccurate quibble because..?” He then glared at Peter who wilted under his stare. “What are you waiting for? Go.”
“Right away, my Liege.”
Once William had closed the door behind Peter, he smiled at Beatrice. “Right, tell me what the runt has told you... I’m guessing most of it is wrong. So I hope you have brought more chalk.”
~
The hail thundered on the thatched roof of the workshop. Despite the cutting wind and fire yet to burn bright, a high spirited Beatrice felt a spring in her step while she hung her cloak on the wooden peg. In the flickering light of the candles she laid the chalk boards side by side on the wooden bench. “Matilda, this is... this is...”
“Amazing?”
“Yes. I can’t even speak because I’m so excited.”
“Needless to say we have never had such an order. Not even from the abbey. We have enough work to keep us busy for a year... maybe longer.”
Beatrice chewed her fingernail while studying the Baron’s order. “Longer. Eighteen months I would say. We’ll have to train more girls. This is good, not just for us, but the town.”
“Just think, we could build and expand the business. We could get more work as word of mouth spreads.”
“We’re gonna be rich, Matilda. Bloody rich. People are going to have to start calling me, my Lady.”
Matilda warmed her hands in front of the flames as the fire engulfed the logs. “Never mind being called Lady. I’m going ask people to call me Queen ... Queen Matilda.”
~
The workshop resembled a jungle of loose ends and pieces of material. Beatrice stood alone while she loaded the loom with red thread. Her ears were alerted by the sound of the door opening. “That was quick Matilda... or have you forgotten the money again?”
“Excuse me Madam.”
“Oh, my Liege.”
William waved at her to continue her work. “No... Please continue. No need to courtesy every time you see me.” He gestured towards the bench seat. “May I?”
“Oh. Let me clear some space for you.”
“No need.”
“But...”
“Continue to work.” William pushed aside the strips of material before sitting on bench. “Just imagine I’m not here.”
“OK.”
“I hope you don’t mind, I was unsure whether I can trust my chamberlain’s judgment on this issue... So I thought it best to inspect the work myself.”
“It’s your right, but little is done so far.”
“I understand. I’m not here to add haste.” William smiled while watching Beatrice shivering while doing her best to weave. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Then why do you shake like an autumnal leaf. You look ready to fall.”
“Forgive me.” Beatrice dropped the bobbin, leaving it to hang by its thread. She then bowed her head while she could hear the sound of waves in her ears. “I’m not used to such company.”
“I’m just like any other man.”
“My Liege, why do you mock me with such words?”
“I do not intend to mock you. Quite the opposite. I...” William felt his tongue become heavy. “In the great hall I saw you writing and calculating. You seem very educated for a... for a...”
“A peasant?”
“I was going to say woman.”
“My Liege.”
“My words might be clumsy but they are true. That’s why I admire you. You’re one of the few women I know with their own trade. I respect your dedication and wish you success.”
“Thank you. Mother Agnes educated many children at the abbey. I was fortunate to be one of them. So were Matilda and Peter.”
“She sounds like a good woman.”
Beatrice smiled while reminiscing the times shared with her old role model. But after a moment the smile was replaced by a sigh. “The plague took her. It seems that even God could not protect one of his own from the ghastly plague.”
“The plague seems to have robbed you of everyone you loved.”
“It did. They say God has a plan for everyone. I’m still thinking what it is he has in stall for me.”
“This fine business is your calling. Name me a woman who has such a business unless it’s a whorehouse?”
Beatrice could not think, her mind appeared nothing but a blank canvas. “I...”
“Of course you can’t. You’re already very successful.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice ran her fingers down the back of her neck. “But what’s the point if I have no one to share it with?”
“You need to lighten your soul. It’s weighed down with much sadness and worry. What do you do for pleasure?”
“Work. There is little pleasure in this life beside my loom.”
“That I do not doubt. But what makes you laugh?”
Beatrice’s face lit up. “I do like a good pig chase.”
“Pig chase? Really? Like those fools who wrestle pigs by the moat lawn?”
“Yes.”
Despite his distaste for this primitive sport, William felt intrigued by Beatrice’s enthusiasm for the primitive sport. “Then when is the next one? I need to know what you English see in this darn sport.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to see this wonderful smile of yours more often.”
A tint of rose coloured Beatrice’s fulsome cheeks. “My Liege you alight my face with blushes.”
“Beatrice. I wish to attend a pig chase with you.”
“They are held on market Fridays...just after mid-day.”
“Great.” William swung his gloved fist in front of his chest. “Friday it is then. Now I must go. I can’t leave Peter alone in the castle for more than an hour.” He shook his head while breathing a sigh. “Peter gets above his position and starts asking the kitchen staff to call him king.” The fact Beatrice giggled at his joke made William feel warm inside. “Good day to you young lady.”
~
Beatrice felt lightheaded as she weaved. She grew angry with herself because of her lack of focus. But it was no use, all she could think of was William. The door creaked causing Beatrice to turn and smile as Matilda stepped in off the street while carrying a basket of bread. “He was here.”
“Who? Peter the turd?”
“No. The Baron.”
Matilda felt confused. “Really?” She placed the basket on the table, then broke the crust from the loaf. “I thought Peter was the Baron’s messenger.”
�
�No, the Baron was here in person. I have the feeling he likes me, Matilda.”
“Don’t fall under his spell. For Normans make the most cruel and wicked men. He’ll use you and throw you to the hounds, just watch.”
Beatrice opened a small cupboard and lifted out a parcel. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a lump of mouldy cheese. “But he talks to me... talks to me as an equal.”
“That may be. But he is Norman. Normans are not to be trusted.”
“I know... but...”
“Don’t forget they have no respect for us. None at all.”
Beatrice felt stressed and wanted to strop like a young lovesick girl. “He seems different, Matilda. Warm and friendly. He’s even meeting me on Sunday.”
“Straight to his chamber to have his way. Don’t doubt my words”
“No, he’s meeting me in public. At the pig chase.”
Matilda slammed the knife through the cheese. “What have you got that he would be interested in? Tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“What can you offer him that he hasn’t already got? And if you say your tapestries, I’ll roll one up and beat you around the head with it.”
“Maybe he likes me.”
Matilda spoke with her mouth full of cheese and bread. “All he likes about you is your beauty, Beatrice.” She then gulped down her morsel. “He wants to see your nakedness and have his evil way with it.”
“I think you’re just jealous. I’m going to be a prude and make him treat me like a lady. Just you watch!”
“A peasant making a Baron treat her with respect... Good luck with that.”
“You’ll see.” Beatrice snatched the cheese from Matilda. “Now, stop hogging the cheese, Ten Bellies.”
~
The usual hustle and bustle of the Sunday market sounded subdued as William sauntered through the gathered crowds. Feeling eyes upon him William knew his presence was putting the townsfolk on edge. But his face cracked a smile as he spotted Beatrice haggling the price of a sad looking turnip. He approached Beatrice unnoticed, then gently felt her shoulder. “That’s a shocking turnip, Beatrice.”
“Oh! Sorry... my, Liege. You shocked me. You’re early? It is not noon.”
“I was excited.” William nodded towards the vegetable stall. “So the turnip... How much?”
“He wants a pretty penny for an ugly turnip.”
“Is that what he asks for? I do suppose he must make a living like the rest of us.” William untied the velvet pouch that hung from belt. He then pulled out a silver groat. “My good man. I have a silver groat.”
The ill looking grocer stood open mouth. “Forgive me, my Liege. Have you not possess a smaller coin? I have not enough to change your groat.”
“Then give me its value in other vegetables.”
“I would, but I fear I do not have enough to sell you.”
“Stop worrying, man... I will send my chamberlain later in week to collect the rest. ”
Beatrice felt confused by William. “I didn’t think you would be so keen on such vegetables.”
“They are for you.”
“But I only wanted a turnip.”
The smile on Beatrice’s face raised William’s spirits. “Yes. You need a good meal... almost as much as this trader needs the money.”
“I appreciate your kindness. But can I share the vegetables among the townsfolk?”
“Why would you do that? I bought them so you can eat well for a month”
Beatrice glanced around the market. “Because they are my neighbours.” Seeing the tired faces of the people she had always known made her feel sorry for those she had lost. “We endured the bad times, so we should also share in the good times.”
“I can see that you’re a generous soul.”
“I try to be.”
Eyeballing the grocer who appeared close to death, William ordered, “Pack the vegetables into a strong sack and deliver it to the cookhouse with the order to make fine soup for the town’s needy.”
“That’s very kind, my Liege. Right away”
Beatrice felt humbled by William’s actions. “They will appreciate your good gesture.”
“It was not my gesture, but yours. I need to change my way as I’m tighter than an otter’s bottom.”
“How do you know how tight a... never mind.”
“I was reliably told by my taxidermist.” William could still sense the eyes of the town on him. “Do you think once the peasants get their soup they will stop looking at me like my horse just shit on their doorstep?”
“It’s not your fault, nor is it theirs. They’re just weary. The last Baron was known for his bad temper and punishing taxes.”
~
The pair arrived at the moat lawn where a fenced ring had been constructed. A crowd had gathered and cheered the pig handler who opened the gate of the pen to release a large pig into the ring. As the pig snorted and patrolled his space, William asked, “So explain... what is this so called sport?”
“Basically, it’s a penny to enter and the first one to catch the pig takes the winnings at the end of the day. If there is more than one winner... then it’s the one with the quickest time. But hardly anyone ever catches the pig... It’s easier to find an honest Norman.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Oh my Lord!” Beatrice covered her mouth with her both hands.”I’m so sorry, my Liege. A mere slip of the tongue.”
“Don’t worry, I have plenty of English jokes. My favourite is, what do you call a useful Englishman?”
“Well, it’s certainly not Peter.”
“Norman.”
“My answer was better.”
While Beatrice struggled to contain her giggles, William slumped his shoulders then shook his head.”I did tell you Normans didn’t have a sense of humour.” He then noticed that the crowd was cheering his name. “Why are they cheering my name? Have they found out about the soup already?”
“No, the pig is called... William.”
“But I’m called William?”
“Yes.”
William ground his teeth. “That’s more than pure coincidence... isn’t it?”
“Well, it is a common name.”
“Not in pig circles it isn’t. I mean, it’s not up there with Porky, Smoky or bloody Sizzler. Is it?”
“I thought you told me you didn’t have a sense of humour?” Beatrice watched as William took off his rich robe. “What are you doing?”
“Right, I’m going to challenge.”
“Are you sure? You will get filthy, risk making a fool of yourself or even injured.”
“I’m a fine specimen of a man. All I have to do is keep it on its flank for three measly seconds, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, how hard can that be?”
William noticed the pig master asking for participants and placed his arm in the air while shoving his way through the crowd. The pig master felt shocked and shouted over the excited cheers of the audience. “My Liege?”
“I see your pig is called William.”
“I swear to God that I did not name it in your honour. It’s my father’s name. He... was a pig farmer.”
“I want to prove that there is only one William in this town.”
Fearing for his own safety as well as the Baron’s, the pig master uttered. “Are you sure you want to enter? It can be dangerous, my Liege.”
“Damn it man. I’m as sure as a man can be.”
“OK. Then you’re first.”
The pig master opened the gate and Baron stepped into the ring. William faced down the greased pig who seemed more interested in searching the floor with his snout.
The word had spread and it seemed the entire town had now gathered to watch the surreal event of a Baron tackling a pig on a muddy field.
William rolled up his sleeves while he slowly walked up to the pig. “Easy boy, I’m not going to hurt you.” As William steadily closed in on the pig, he slowly opened
his arms. “Now there we are, I just want to give you a hug, old boy.” He then stopped with only half a step between them.
The crowd drew its breath as they watched William inch closer towards the pig. Yet the pig hadn’t flinched the whole time.
But with no warning the pig scampered.
William pounced but hit the muddy turf with nothing to embrace but muddy ground and the mocking of the crowd. Embarrassed, he lay motionless.
Finally William cracked, “The little bastard.” Wiping the dirt from his face, he climbed to his feet. “Time to get serious.” He glared at the pig. “You’re going to be on my plate before this day is through.”
To the cheer of the crowd and the sound of his own battle cry, William raced towards the pig.
In an effort to reduce the escape routes, William shepherded the pig towards the fence. Remaining light on his feet he tried to judge the direction of its escape.
Once again William threw himself at the pig. This time he landed on top of the hog and wrapped his arms around its body. He rode the pig backwards with its curly tail tickling his face. But the grease aided the pig’s struggles and William lost his prize.
On the churned ground William pulled dirt from his mouth once more. He then spat towards the mud as he gingerly picked himself up. The crowd remained silent as if they did not know how to react to the Baron’s plight. William then shouted, “Who wants roast pork tonight?”
William’s rallying call caused the crowd to become raucous. He then approached a worried Beatrice in the crowd before offering his muddied hand. “Help me out here.”
“Me?”
To a mixture of wolf whistles and cheers, William helped Beatrice over the rickety wooden fence. Beatrice stared at a mud covered William. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry?”
“What’s life if you can’t laugh, Bea?”
“I can laugh. But maybe we should just admit defeat here?”
“Normans never surrender.”
Beatrice glanced at the angry hog. “But that’s one hell of a pig.”
“Just imagine it glazed with honey and stuffed with onion and garlic...Not to mention the succulent smell of it roasting on the fire.”
“I can taste him now.”
“Then let’s get him on our plate.”
The pair targeted the pig in a pincer movement, forcing the hog to make a dash in between. William made one last dive. This time he took the hooves from under the hog, tackling to the ground. But once again he could not grip and risked letting the pig escape through his grasp. However to the delight of the crowd, Beatrice swan dived on the wrestling pair.
