“Beatrice is the head weaver, my Liege.”
“Then I want to see Beatrice.”
A pretty face peaked around the wooden door frame. Quietly as a harvest mouse, she spoke, “I’m Beatrice.”
William recognised it as the woman he had seen on the street. He then walked to the entrance and stepped into the workshop. The young woman cautiously entered into the room and quickly curtsied. He dryly smiled. “You’re too young to be the proprietor.”
“It was my parents’ business. But the plague snatched them. I’m in sole charge now.”
“Not your husband?”
Beatrice shook her head while focusing on her mud covered shoes. “The plague also took Herbert, my husband. We had been married only six weeks.”
“My sympathy, madam.”
“I’m not the only one who lost, my Liege. Everyone has been touched by the plague.”
“Indeed, I hear these lands were ravaged by the plague. My chamberlain told me it wiped out half the village.” William felt awkward as he didn’t know what else to say. “Well, your luck is about to change.”
“My Liege?”
William stepped up to vertical loom causing the women to disperse like timid street dogs. His eyes lapped up the elegant floral pattern which were warmly coloured with reds and ambers. Lightly brushing his fingers along fabric, he nodded with satisfaction. “Fine work, I may be interested. But who could possibly afford such work in these impoverished lands?”
“We mainly produce simple garments for the villages. But every so often the Abbey will order a tapestry or two.”
“How come you have kept your skills from me? I could easily view this treason?”
“Forgive me, but I have not. Your chamberlain turned me away.”
“Peter!” William thumped his clenched fist against the wooden wall “That useless shit wouldn’t know talent if I beat him to death with it.” Flexing his aching fingers, he shook his head while walking towards the door. “Girls... consider yourself employed.” He glanced over his shoulder to Beatrice. “Report to the guardhouse at sunrise... you have a castle to decorate.”
“Really?”
“I’m a Norman... I don’t have a sense of humour. Now, I’m off to beat seven shades of brown out of my useless chamberlain. Good day to you.”
Once William had left the workshop remained in silence for a few moments. Beatrice listened to the hooves of the Baron’s horse until they all but disappeared. She then screamed, “What the hell just happened?” Still screaming, she grabbed hold of her faithful weaver. “Matilda... was I dreaming? Tell me I wasn’t.”
“No, he was here. I witnessed him, dressed in his fine clothes and smelling of rose water.”
“What are we going to do? I mean... he asked us to decorate his castle, did he not?”
“I’ve never been spoken to by a Norman before.”
Beatrice sat on the bench seat, open-mouthed. “He spoke in English, and he’s ravishingly handsome too... Baron Bertrand was as ugly as a corpse. But this William, he’s something else.”
“Beatrice, don’t get carried away. His ancestors slaughtered ours and took all their land. He and his kind now tax us up to our eyeballs, keeping us locked in poverty. He is no better than any other Norman.”
“I’m not stupid, Matilda.” Beatrice stretched out her legs, scraping her clogs across the wooden floorboards. She placed her hands on her cloth covered knees and stared at Matilda. “But did he, or did he not just offer us business? Lots of business.”
“He did that indeed. But you know as well as I do... never trust a Norman. Not even a dead one.”
~
The smell of raw sewage made Peter cover his face with his arm while descending the steps into the torch-lit bowels of the stone keep. In the flickering light he saw William holding a shovel while standing next to a large bucket. “My Liege, why did you choose such a terrible place to meet?” He then felt like vomiting as William handed him the shovel covered in excrement.
“The cesspit needs emptying.”
“My Liege, the castle employs a gong farmer to empty the cesspit.”
“Well, it’s either I beat the shit out of you or clean up everybody else’s. What is it to be?”
“Why do you choose to use such angry words with me?”
“Beatrice Buxton, the town weaver. She came to sell her fine tapestries.” William held a bag of rose petals to his face as he opened the door to the cavernous pit. “But you turned her away. Why?”
“I love her. But she broke my heart and married another man.”
“Her husband is dead... and yet you’re still bitter?” William glared at Peter. “You had me freezing my bollocks off, just because yours are so bitter?”
“I asked her since his death. But she still refuses me.”
“But, Peter, her refusal of you has nothing to do about the woman being cruel. Nor is it to do with her still loving her husband.”
“Then what is it, my Liege?”
William motioned with his head, signalling for a forlorn Peter to enter the pit. “It’s about you being as ugly as sin. Now, Peter the gong farmer, you have a cesspit to empty.”
~
Towards the East the sun had barely melted over the horizon while to the West a distant winter storm brewed. Beatrice and Matilda found themselves caught in the middle while they waited outside the guardhouse. The studded oak door finally clunked as it opened. Immediately Matilda pinched her nose as a familiar face peeped around the door. “My God... Peter... you stink worse than usual.”
“Good day to you both, Matilda, and the Big tits Beatrice.”
Beatrice placed her hands on her hips. “Never mind Peter the Penis... you should change your name to Peter the arse. What is wrong with you? You smell like a filthy moat rat.”
“I’ve been knee deep in shit.”
“What trouble have you been in this time?”
“No literally... I’ve been knee deep in shit. Yesterday the Baron had me cleaning out the cesspit all afternoon... that’s six months of shit I had to carry to the dung cart.”
Matilda looked on suspiciously. “Isn’t that Gordon the Gong Farmer’s job? You’re doing him out of a living.”
“He needed some help to shift it. I suppose that’s the downside to a good sprout harvest.”
~
Inside the great hall Beatrice listened diligently as Peter explained the Baron’s wishes. Along with Matilda, she chalked notes onto a square of slate. Peter then stopped explaining about the Baron’s preferred style of tapestry. “You know, Beatrice. That’s what I always liked about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re like me. Educated.”
“That will probably have something to do with the fact we shared the same teacher, Mother Agnes.”
“You should choose your next man wisely. Just think how clever our children will be. He will have two parents to educate him... or God forbid we have a daughter.”
Peter’s words burned Matilda’s earls like hot wax. Her anger boiled over causing her to snap her chalk. “What’s wrong with having a daughter?”
“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.”
&n
bsp; “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 publ
ic. 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.”
ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) Page 69
