The Conquest

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Mauger nodded stiffly and mumbled a polite reciprocation. Words did not come easily to his tongue the way they did for Rolf and Benedict. He felt clumsy and uncomfortable, nor did it make it easier that he and Rolf both knew that Rolf was trying his best to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

  'Julitta isn't here,' his future father-in-law added as they set off together towards the hall. 'I sent her away before dawn -better for all concerned. She is waiting at your manor of Fauville.' He spread his hands in a gesture both wry and apologetic. 'I gambled that you would agree to the match. You can be married in the chapel there, and I will give you a month's leave from your tasks at Brize.'

  A honey month, a time for settling into the married state… or a time of siege. Mauger thanked Rolf for what could either be a blessing or a curse, and went to change his garments. Rolf had asked him if he was sober. Mauger rather wished that he had been sodden drunk.

  CHAPTER 49

  Julitta stood in the road and watched her father, the Cluniac monk who had married her to Mauger, and the small entourage of knights and servants, ride away from Fauville. It was very difficult to know who was the betrayer, and who the betrayed. Her father said that he had done his best for her, that she would see it in time, and had admonished her to start her life afresh and be a good wife to Mauger.

  Her new husband stood beside her in the road, one arm raised in farewell, the other in heavy possession across her shoulders. She was his property now, her father had relinquished his guardianship when the vows were pledged. Julitta was still unable to believe that she had spoken the words so meekly. It was not what she wanted. Inside she was screaming.

  Even before the horsemen were out of sight on the road, Mauger lowered his arm and drew her round to face her new home, her prison. She twisted her head and stared over her shoulder, willing her father to turn around, but the distance continued to grow and Mauger's urging grew more insistent.

  'Come,' he said brusquely. "Tis no use looking back.'

  'What reason have I to look forward?' she retorted, and tried to shrug him off. 'I did not want this marriage, it was forced upon me.'

  Mauger's grip tightened. 'By your own folly,' he said tightly. 'What you want is not always what you receive.'

  'You seem to have landed upon your feet.'

  'Do you think my dream is to have a wife who cannot see beyond her own selfish whims?'

  'I don't care what your dream is,' Julitta said defiantly, and then cried out as Mauger's fingers dug into the apex of her shoulder with braising force.

  'Then you had better begin caring,' he snarled. 'I won't stand for your sulkiness, and I'm not a soft fool like your father or Benedict de Remy to cast myself at your feet to be trodden on. I am the master of Fauville, and my word here is law!' His voice gained power, the last five words hard and vehement. He fixed her with his stare, imposing his will. When he spoke again, his tone was flat and cold. 'Disobey me, and I will beat you. Please me, and I will please you. I'm a simple man, I live by simple rules.'

  Julitta thought of another scathing retort related to his simplicity, but caution jailed it in her head, and a twinge of shame caused her to cease glaring at him and lower her lids. If she was being horrible to Mauger, it was because life was being horrible to her. Was it selfish to want what she could not have, or just unfortunate? Tears thickened in her throat and prickled her eyes. I will not cry, she told herself and clenched her jaw.

  'Do you understand?'

  Unable to speak, Julitta just nodded. Mauger grunted, the sound accepting, but doubtful, and led her into the hall.

  Fauville was a fortified manor house, built in stone at the time of Mauger's grandfather. There was a stone tower too, for defence, but this was more as a last resort and was used mainly as a storeroom for surplus provisions and basic weapons such as spears, shields, bowstaves and arrows. If war did come to the lands of Fauville, then the population would remove six miles to the greater security of Brize-sur-Risle.

  The manor house possessed a vaulted undercroft to the ground floor, again for storage of supplies. On the first floor, with access by stone stairs and a rope hand rail, was the hall, a handsome room with arched windows and a fine, raised dais at the end away from the door. There was a narrow wooden staircase up to the loft, which ran the length of the hall below, and served as a bedchamber and personal room for the lord and lady should they wish for a little privacy. It was here that Mauger brought Julitta as the day yielded to a mild spring dusk.

  The air was dusty and cobwebs festooned the beams. Although the bedding had been hastily aired by two maids, it still smelled musty and stale, as if it had not been washed from its last occupant, who had died here more than six years ago. There were yellow creases in the linen and a nasty brownish blotch on the exposed bottom sheet. Julitta wrinkled her nose. Although she and her mother had lived a perilous existence in Southwark, they had always kept themselves and their belongings clean. She could still see her mother vigorously punching their bed linen up and down in a barrel of hot water, and smell the stinging aroma of the lye suds. And Lady Arlette was meticulous to the point of obsession. The maids were always whisking the sheets away to be washed, and the linens in the coffers were strewn with dried lavender and rose petals to keep them sweet.

  Mauger kindled some more rush dips to light the gathering gloom. 'This room hasn't really been used since my father died,' he said. 'I know it is a little shabby, but nothing that a good broom cannot set to rights. You can start tomorrow.'

  Julitta stared at him, the resentment plain in her eyes.

  'It is your right as the mistress of Fauville,' Mauger said. 'And your duty.'

  'Ah yes, my duty,' Julitta repeated flatly. She did not want duty. She wanted love and light and laughter… and Ben. Selfish, selfish. Do your duty, be approved of. She sat down on the grimy bed, the rushlight shadows lumbering around her, and removed her veil and the circlet of twisted silk which held it in place. Her braids, each a handspan thick and tightly plaited, framed her pale face, the determined mouth and blank eyes. Fumbling, she reached to the pin at the neck of her gown. Dear Christ, was it only last night that Benedict's fingers had lingered there, and then upon her breasts?

  Breathing heavily, Mauger began to undress too. From long habit he took time to fold his clothes neatly and place them on the single coffer in the room, and then he advanced to the bed.

  Julitta's vision was filled with the sight of his flat belly, the stripe of blond hair running down into his pubic bush and the burgeoning length of his penis. She averted her head.

  'There is no need to pretend shyness,' he said. 'You are not a virgin.'

  'And you hold it against me. I can hear the anger in your voice.'

  'Why should I be angry?' He shrugged, and pulled her to her feet so that he could remove her undergown and short linen shift. 'I'm the one who has you now. You're my wife, and honour-bound to obey me, as I am honour-bound to care for you.' One calloused hand closed over her breast, the other pressed her close to his body and he rubbed himself against her, his organ hot upon the juncture of her thighs. Julitta closed her eyes and prepared to endure.

  The mattress was lumpy under her spine, and Mauger's eager weight crushed her down. His mouth was everywhere, wet and searing. His hands rubbed and pawed. 'Open your legs,' he demanded. 'Open for your husband.' Julitta complied. She had no desire to fight him and increase the level of his vigour, which already bordered on violence. Mauger searched for a moment, poking and prodding, then with a grunt, found her sheath and thrust himself forward with the force of a bull. Julitta clenched a scream behind her teeth and arched her body.

  'Ah, you like it, do you?' Mauger panted. 'Is mine bigger than his, eh? I know what you need.' He set to with a will.

  Julitta bit her lip. The force of his thrusts cramped her inside, but every time she tried to wriggle away, he would grip her buttocks and command her to lie still and take what was due. As his crisis approached, he pounded into her as if he hated her. A
t the moment of his climax, Julitta's scream blended with his roar of triumph and despair.

  In the aftermath, he lay upon her, his chest and belly heaving rapidly, slippery with sweat. Julitta felt the thundering of his heart and heard his breath roaring in her ears like the roaring of a wild beast on top of its bloody prey. Slowly he withdrew himself, and she stiffened at the scalding pain.

  Mauger's hand pawed over her body in a clumsy caress. 'I'll keep you so busy, that you'll have no time for thoughts of other men,' he said thickly.

  Julitta said nothing. Her thoughts were the only private thing left to her now. She was not going to allow Mauger to violate them as well.

  He lay down beside her, continuing to fondle. 'We're man and wife in every way now.' There was satisfaction in his voice, but something else too, as if saying the words aloud would make their union more convincing. 'You enjoyed it, didn't you?'

  Julitta longed to slap his hand away. 'You hurt me,' she said.

  'You'll grow accustomed. Probably I am much bigger than he was, a man, not a boy.'

  Julitta closed her eyes and turned her head away. 'You do not dance,' she murmured, thinking of the weaving of the May ribbons. 'You trample.'

  'Meaning what?'

  'Oh, Mauger, I'm so tired and so sore. Can't I just go to sleep?'

  The pawing hand stopped on the crown of her breast. In the weak glow of the rushlight, Mauger leaned over her. She felt his stare but did not open her eyes. 'I suppose I was a little rough,' he admitted gruffly. 'I wanted to prove my vigour. Julitta, don't turn away from me.' His hand left her breast. She felt a light caress on the side of her face. 'Yes, go to sleep,' he said in a softer tone than he had used to her all day.

  If Julitta had looked at his face, she would have seen bewilderment and tenderness fighting for a place among the masterly emotions which Mauger considered fitting to his manhood. But she had reached the end of her tether, and could only feel a deep relief, untinged by any gratitude that he was going to leave her be. Turning on her side, she drew the musty coverlet over her shoulder and curled herself up like a child in the womb.

  Mauger lay on his back, staring at the loft beams, and as the rushlights burned down and sputtered out, he wrestled with himself, trying to understand his internal conflicts. And the more he wrestled, the more he tied himself in knots, until anger and resentment were the only outcome.

  CHAPTER 50

  'Married to Mauger? Is Rolf out of his wits?' Benedict demanded of his father.

  They were seated in a cookshop on the banks of the Seine in Rouen. Two of Aubert's wine galleys were in dock, loaded and ready to sail for London. A third vessel was imminent from Corunna, with a cargo of southern wines and citrus fruits.

  'Rolf is not the only one without wits, it seems,' Aubert said with a pointed look at the young man. 'In the circumstances, I would say that Rolf did his best for the girl. At least she was not carrying a child from her exploits. That would have complicated matters.'

  Benedict toyed with the engraving on his cup. It was October, five months since the folly of May Eve, and not a day had passed that he had not regretted the incident, or wished with fevered blood that it could happen all over again. He felt as if he had done Julitta a grievous wrong, and Gisele too, for all that they were not on easy terms. Rolf had sent him away, but perhaps he ought to have refused and ridden out the storm, rather than running for the harbour of absence. And now Julitta was Mauger's wife. Dour, unsmiling Mauger.

  'How much do you know?' he asked.

  A serving girl placed a basket of new bread in the centre of the trestle and followed it with two wooden trenchers, each holding a whole flat fish, which had been cooked in a skillet with butter and herbs. Aubert leaned back to permit her to set the dish before him, and drew his eating knife from his belt. 'Rolf told me everything. He knows that I am not a blabbermouth, and besides, as the father of the other party involved, it was my business.'

  The fish stared up at Benedict out of milky eyes and his appetite, such as it had been, vanished. His stomach was still rolling from his journey across from Ulverton. The narrow sea had not seemed so narrow with the wind inciting the waves to buck like wild horses, and the rain striking the deck in freezing silver lances. Besides, thinking of Julitta always made him queasy. 'I love her,' he said.

  Aubert busied himself with his fish, deftly filleting flesh from bone. 'I gathered as much. Or should I say, less charitably, that to think of my son taking his wife's younger sister in drunken lust was more than I could bear to contemplate of your character.'

  'It wasn't drunken lust, nor was it deliberate.' Benedict met his father's eyes, willing him to understand. 'It just happened, and while it was happening, it seemed right. It was not until afterwards that we realised it was wrong, and before we could gather our wits or decide what to do, the consequences were upon us. Mauger,' he said with anguish. 'I do not believe he has married her to Mauger.'

  'Rolf says that she appears to have settled down and is making a good wife. Perhaps she has been given what she needs — responsibilities and a husband who is as solid as a rock.'

  Benedict winced inwardly. That was hardly a description that could be applied to him over the past several months. Responsible, solid. A pang of jealousy had seared through him as his father spoke of Julitta being happy. How could she be content with an overbearing dullard like Mauger? It was not the Julitta he knew. What had they done to her?

  'I have to see her,' he said. 'I have to set matters right between us.'

  Aubert laid down his knife. 'If you love her, you will let her be,' he said forcibly. 'A wound never heals if you keep poking a blade into it and stirring it around. You already have a wife.

  Set matters to rights between you and her. No, do not look away.' He grasped Benedict's wrist. 'You have a duty to Gisele, and a debt owing to Rolf. These you will pay, and that payment involves remaining apart from Julitta. I know what would happen. And would you still be able to say that it "wasn't deliberate"?' He withdrew his hand. Benedict stared down at the cooling, untouched fish on his trencher. He knew that his father was right, but his words of advice were almost as unpalatable as the food. Never see Julitta again? Her tumbled hair, the look in her eyes that had haunted him for five long and lonely months. He could not bear the burden, and yet the alternative would impose a greater burden still.

  'I cannot eat this,' he said, and pushing the trencher aside, walked out of the tavern into the cold, damp air.

  The lord of Fauville owed military service to the lord of Brize-sur-Risle in exchange for his lands, and in his turn, the lord of Brize owed military service to the Duke of Normandy. So it had been since the time of the first Duke, and so it continued, although Rolf had commuted some of his obligation by the payment each Michaelmas Day of five warhorses to the ducal household. He still, however, had to provide three knights and twelve footsoldiers for a forty-day period of each year. Sometimes he would take command of the duty himself, but now that he was growing older, he preferred to delegate, and so Mauger was given the responsibility.

  Julitta helped her husband to pack his baggage for the forty days that he would be absent. Two linen shirts, two tunics, trousers, hose, leg bindings. A spare, short cloak and coneyskin cap. Her movements were calm and methodical, and her face wore no particular expression. She was being the good and dutiful wife that Mauger expected her to be. Inside, where he could not reach to look, she was fizzing with delight at the prospect of an entire six weeks without him.

  People thought that she was happy, that sixteen months of marriage had given her steadiness and purpose, but they were only granted a view of the outside, even her father. Sometimes, if she pretended hard enough, she could even fool herself too. It was like playing at squirrels when she was a little girl. The harder she believed, the closer to the truth it became. It was a defence, protecting her from Mauger by giving him what he wanted. She had ceased to fight him with her tongue. There was no point, for anything she inflicted only rebounded un
pleasantly upon herself. For the first month she had wallowed in misery. Her flux had been late, and she had dared to hope that she was carrying Benedict's child. The first morning that she was sick, Mauger saddled up one of the more unruly horses and took her out riding. She had been jounced up hill and down dale for the better part of the day, and when they returned, he had taken her to bed, and continued to ride, vigorously, throughout the night. The next morning, instead of being sick, she had begun to bleed.

  'A good thing you've bled,' Mauger had grunted at her. 'We can start again once you're clean, breed some true heirs for Fauville.' Sick and groggy though she was, Julitta had raged at him and he had beaten her until she could not stand up. Then he had put her to bed, tended her bruises lovingly, and explained that he had only punished her for her own good, and that if she obeyed his rules as the head of the household, she need never be beaten again.

  And so she obeyed his rules, and Mauger was good to her. And beneath the pretence she hated her life. The only alternative was to run away, but her years in a Southwark bathhouse had given her the practical knowledge of how vulnerable she would be, and so she stayed chained at Fauville – paying the price.

  Mauger entered the bedchamber now. He was dressed in his quilted gambeson, the undergarment worn beneath mail to protect the wearer from the bruise of a blow, and from the chaffing of the thousands of iron hauberk rivets. His mail coat was rolled up in a corner of the room and beside it were his sword, shield and spear.

  'Have you finished, wife?' he enquired. Unconsciously, he took up a dominant pose, legs spread apart, fist clutching his belt close to the long knife hanging on his hip.

  'Yes, Mauger.' She fastened the straps on the heavy linen satchel. 'I think you have everything you need.'