by Linda Sole
‘What did you get for it?’
‘Ten silver pounds. He wanted to give me gold pennies, the new ones that the King has had minted this year and set at two sterlings or twenty pence, but I refused and asked for silver, which took a long time to count. Silver is easier to spend. I have already spent some of it for I booked passage on a ship. We must hurry, because we need to be aboard tonight in time for the early tide in the morning.’
‘We are truly going?’ Marta was almost light-headed in her relief. ‘We leave for France in the morning – all of us together?’
‘Of course.’ Will frowned as he looked down at her. ‘Did you think I would take your brother’s gold and leave you here to face the consequences alone?’
‘I…was not sure.’ Marta felt ashamed of her doubts. ‘Forgive me. I have never been sure what I am to you…’
‘You are a woman I admire and care for,’ he replied, his eyes serious as he looked down at her. ‘I will not promise eternal love, Marta. I am a man and men are frail creatures. One day I may want to move on alone but that day is not yet and not here. I shall promise you one thing. If I go, I shall tell you and I will not leave you without money or friends.’
‘Oh Will…’ Marta’s eyes stung with tears. She knew in her heart that she would never be certain of him. He was the kind of man that all women loved and she was not beautiful enough to bind him to her. One day he would leave her but that time was not yet. For the moment he wanted her with him. He cared enough to make her a promise that he would not simply abandon her. ‘Mary was crying because she was hungry.’
‘I’ve bought food for the journey. That delayed me further but we shall need something before we reach France.’ He bent to pick Mary up and then smiled at Marta. ‘Come on then. What are you waiting for?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I am with you. Lead on and I shall follow.’
Watching as he strode away, his pack over one shoulder and Mary in the crook of his strong arms, she picked up the rest of their belongings and knew that this was how she would spend the next few years of her life. Will would lead and she would follow. It would be a good life though sometimes hard.
She smiled and began to sing softly to herself. For Marta this was happiness. She could not know how long it would last but for the moment she was happy.
12
‘Dead?’ Robert stared in horror at the soldier who brought the news. Rhoda and Jonathan – both dead? How did this happen? Where were they attacked?’
‘It was at the edge of your land, my lord, just where the road forks and not far from the new mill. We were patrolling, as you ordered us and came across the body. Sir Jonathan had been killed with a bolt from a crossbow and…’ the man swallowed hard. ‘The lady Rhoda had been strangled – and someone had covered her eyes with gold coins and spilled her gold all over her body.’
Robert felt sick to his stomach. The news that the man he loved had been so foully slain was more shocking than Rhoda’s death, though that too would lie heavy on his conscience.
‘If it had been thieves that killed them the gold would have disappeared before you found them. Whoever did this wicked thing must have lain in wait and… ‘ He crossed himself for there was something chilling about what had been done to Rhoda. Whoever had done it must have truly hated her. ‘By God he will pay if I ever find the man who did this evil thing.’
‘Do you know who it might be my lord?’
Robert stared at him for a moment in silence, then inclined his head. ‘I believe I might…’ He shook his head as the man’s eyes questioned, feeling the bitterness in his throat. Turning hastily to one side he vomited. ‘God forgive me. I sent them to their deaths. I should have provided an escort to the coast…’
* * *
Robert looked down at the face of the man he had counted his best friend and a wave of grief swept over him. Jonathan had been washed and prepared for burial in the crypt, where he would lie side by side with the woman he had loved.
‘Forgive me,’ Robert said and hot tears stung his eyes. ‘You did not deserve to die like this, my best of friends. You were the truest of knights and I shall mourn you until I rest in my own grave.’
Robert had decided he would keep vigil in the chapel and watch over the coffins throughout the night. He had commanded they be left open until the morning when they would be closed and the coffins interred together in the crypt.
Kneeling in front of the huge silver cross on the altar, Robert felt the weight of his sin lie heavily upon his soul. He must and would do penance. Not because Melloria had demanded it of him, but because he truly repented. In his anger and hurt pride after Melloria’s rejection, he had sent Rhoda and Jonathan away. He should have given Rhoda longer to take her leave of the child she had born, and he should have sent an escort of men to see them safely to their ship.
‘I did not know…forgive me,’ he said but whether his prayer for forgiveness was for God or his lost friend he did not know.
In the morning when the burial was done and the prayers for the departed said, Robert would seek out the priest alone and ask to be given a penance. He had already donned a hair shirt, which irritated his skin almost past bearing but it was not enough.
Rising to his feet once more, he went to stand by Jonathan’s coffin. He looked down at his bloodless face then bent to kiss his cold lips.
‘For the love you bore me, I swear that one day I shall bring the man who did this to justice.’
His eyes were hard as he knelt before the cross once more but there were no prayers in his heart, just a deep and bitter hatred.
* * *
Robert stared at the empty room that had once belonged to Melloria. He must have it cleansed and refurbished, for Melloria would not wish to sleep in another woman’s bed. His body ached for her, his nights tormented by the need that gnawed at his guts and kept him restless.
He had given her his promise that she might stay at the abbey for a year and one month but he wanted her now. Too many months had already passed. She belonged here with him and he would have her.
Calling to his squire he strode from the room. Melloria would not resist him. She had had time enough and he wanted her here in his home and his bed.
* * *
‘What do you mean she is not here?’ Robert moved towards Beatrice threateningly. ‘You will tell me or I shall make you wish that you had not been born.’
‘Do as you wish, but you will be excommunicated by His Holiness. Lay a finger on me or any of my nuns and you will burn in the fires of Hell for eternity.’
‘I am already in hell,’ Robert cried, his face twisting in anguish. Yet he was afraid of hell, afraid of the damnation the priests threatened to those the Church rejected. His throat felt dry and his hands clenched at his sides. ‘Where is she? I beg you, tell me for I am in torment.’
‘Melloria is in a refuge. I cannot visit her and nor can you. It is forbidden and you would be excommunicated as I told you.’ Beatrice hesitated. ‘If you wish I will tell you where to find Iolanthe. She was placed with a woman to care for her but I fear she is unhappy. I have been told she screams and cries for her mother.’
Robert’s pulses raced. If he had Iolanthe he would have the power to force Melloria to return to him.
‘Tell me…’ he said hoarsely. ‘I shall take her home with me.’
‘You must promise me that you will give her up to Melloria if she asks?’ Beatrice looked troubled and he sensed that she regretted her offer. ‘She is your child…and I am not sure that my sister truly knows her own heart. But you must promise not to use her to force Melloria to come to you sooner than you allowed.’
‘I promise on all that I hold sacred. Melloria may have the time allotted, but afterwards she must return to me. It is her duty, as my wife.’
‘Yes…’ Beatrice inclined her head. ‘Melloria does have her duty as your wife. I shall not deny you have the right to make her return to you – but I beg that you will not force her.’
; ‘You have my word.’
Robert’s eyes gleamed as Beatrice handed him a piece of paper. He could hardly contain his triumph. Melloria was his. He would give her the time he had promised, but after that he would come and take her – by force if necessary.
13
Melloria looked around the tiny cell that would be hers until her child was born. Bare and cold, it contained few comforts save her books and needlework. In this isolated hermitage there were only a handful of nuns, all of whom had taken a vow of silence. They communicated with her by means of signs but not one word was spoken. Her meals were served to her in her cell. She was allowed to sit at the back of the chapel for prayers, and hymns, which was the only time the nuns made a sound, but the remainder of her days and nights were spent alone.
It was what she had requested. She needed time to pray and come to terms with the tragedies that had happened to her. Beatrice had hidden her from Robert, giving her true sanctuary until after her child was born. Yet she feared what was to come for here there would ben no family to help her, no physician would be called. Only the nuns would attend her and they were untrained in the arts of midwifery.
‘My poor babe…’ Melloria’s eyes were moist with tears as she thought of what must happen when Nicholas’s child was born. She could not keep her child, because Robert’s anger would know no bounds if he ever discovered the truth. To keep her babe safe she had agreed to give it up once a good woman had been found to take it.
‘There are women who can never have the happiness of holding their own babe in their arms,’ Beatrice had said to comfort her. ‘Think of the joy you will bring to someone, Melloria. You have your Iolanthe and she will be restored to you once your time of confinement is done, and if God wills it Iolanthe’s twin may be found. You know that Robert would not accept Nicholas Malvern’s child.’
‘Yes, I know it.’ Melloria replied but her heart wept bitter tears.
Iolanthe had screamed and cried when they gave her into the care of the woman who would look after her until Melloria could claim her once more.
‘No, Mama. No…’ she cried and wept as her mother placed in the woman’s arms. ‘Papa…Iolanthe want Papa…’
Her cries cut Melloria to the heart but she could not take her child into the retreat with her and there was no other way. Robert could visit the convent at any time and demand to see her so she must retire to a hermitage where he would never find her.
‘You will watch over her?’ Melloria begged her sister. ‘You will not forget her? My poor child will be so distressed at losing both her father and mother but I can no longer hide the fact of my condition and if Robert were to see me...’
‘He might kill you and the babe. Iolanthe would lose her mother forever and that would be a worse tragedy. You have spoiled her, sister. Most children spend their lives in the nursery with servants and scarcely see their parents. Had you lived at the castle it would have been that way. You know this is for the best.’
‘Yes. It is what I must do. I have no choice.’
Melloria had shut her ears to Iolanthe’s screams but she had wept bitter tears alone. Sometimes she dreamed that her daughter was lost to her. She wandered alone in a dark place where the sun never seemed to shine and there was no love and no relief from the pain of loss.
‘Nicholas my love…’ Melloria whispered. ‘Where are you now? Do you wander the underworld alone and lost in the darkness – or are you alive? Do you think of me as I think of you? Shall I ever see you again?’
Alone, in her self-imposed isolation, Melloria studied the journals she had brought from Malvern. Her understanding and admiration of the mind that had written such serious ideals and theories grew as the long days turned into weeks and the time passed.
Her confinement was very close now and she would give life to Nicholas’s child, but whether she would survive the birth she did not know. Giving birth to Robert’s children had almost killed her. She had survived because Nicholas had brought her through with his skill and devotion but this time there would be only the silent nuns to help her.
‘Give me strength,’ she prayed. ‘Nicholas’s son must live. I pray that one day he will return and know that I gave him a child…’
* * *
Melloria gave a cry of despair as she read her sister’s letter. Robert had tried to force her to give her up to him but she had resisted. She had given him Iolanthe instead.
I beg you will forgive me, sister, but he has the right to his child, as he has the right to demand that you return to him. I do not see what else you can do once your time of confinement is over. You must do your…
The letter fell from Melloria’s hand as the pain struck. She doubled up, gasping as she knew the child was coming…coming sooner than it should.
‘If my child dies I shall never forgive you,’ she muttered as she panted, her teeth barred in a grimace of pain. ‘Nicholas…Nicholas…why are you not with me?’
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She had almost died when her twins were born, but Nicholas had saved her. The pain was nearly unbearable but she thought the child was coming quickly, perhaps too quickly.
Her hand reached for the bell to summon help. The sisters would know why she had rung it and they would come to her.
‘Give me strength,’ her lips moved in prayer. ‘Let me bear a living child and let me live.’
She was not sure whether it was to God she prayed or Nicholas.
‘Relax, Anne. Breathe deeply and push. The child is small. You shall not die this time. I am with you.’
‘Nicholas…’ Anne smiled and the pain eased. She lay back on her couch and began to pant and to push when the pain came. ‘Nicholas, my love…’
He was with her. She could feel him, feel his touch soothing her, his love surrounding her. It was as if he were in the room, encouraging her and caring for her, and her courage returned. When the nuns came her waters had broken and the head was already through.
She looked at the child as it was drawn from her body, leaning forward to see.
‘What is it? A boy or girl?’
The nun did not answer, merely holding the child so that she could see. She had given birth to Nicholas’s son. Lying back against the pillows, she closed her eyes.
‘You have a son, Nicholas,’ she breathed. ‘You have a son…’
Tears trickled down her cheeks and into her mouth. She could taste the salt. One day Nicholas would return and then she would tell him. The child would be hidden but he would find it and take it to his heart.
She had given Nicholas a son and they both lived. What came in the future must be faced. She had a son…
14
The summer had been hotter than anyone could recall and the foetid air was heavy with the stench from the open ditch that ran through the main street of the village. Here lay the rotting corpse of a dead dog, decaying vegetables and all manner of filth washed there by the rain of the early spring. Now all had turned to a foul soup of thick slime that harboured rats and bred disease. As dusk fell, the figure wrapped in a dark cloak to cover the gown of a nobleman moved along the street, calling from house to house with the medicines, food and fresh water he brought each night.
Sickness haunted the hovels in this noisome place, and in almost every family there was at least one person whose body was beginning to show signs of the terrible rash that was the sign of a fearful sickness. As yet no one had died here but the apothecary knew that it was only a matter of time before the Grim Reaper took his dues. The apothecary had treated as many as he could, but there were too many of them now and soon the dread disease would spread to the townsfolk.
In France that year as the heat intensified disease and sickness had spread from city to town and town to village. In most cases no one visited to alleviate the suffering of the poor. People shrank from a disease they thought a curse of the Devil. Some prayed, others drank until they forgot their fear, others just lay on their beds and died.
As the first rays of dawn h
eralded yet another hot day, the apothecary began to walk up the hill to his house. Surrounded by high walls with an impressive iron gate that was opened only to trusted friends, there were thick woods hiding the house within from curious eyes. No one knew the name of the man who had come to live there after so many years of the house standing empty. Some said he was a rich nobleman, some said he was a clever physician, others whispered that he dabbled in the black arts but no one knew his name.
Within the sunlit gardens behind the house there was a pool. The apothecary thought of the cool water where he could wash away the stink of his night’s labours. There would be no unwelcome visitors waiting for him this night. Never again would he leave his home vulnerable to attack.
His thoughts were dark as he rubbed at his temple. The headaches, which had almost destroyed him, still came frequently to plague him, but his mind was now as clear as it had ever been. The mists of uncertainty had lifted. He knew who he was and what he had lost and one day soon he would have his revenge. He would take back all those things that belonged to him – no matter if it cost him his immortal soul.
Part Two
15
Rome, in the year of our Lord 1258
Night had fallen over the sleeping city and the Appian Way was bathed in shadow, a full moon playing hide and seek amongst dark clouds that heralded a storm before dawn. For days the dust from roads baked hard by oppressive heat had choked the air of Rome. Even now when the temperature was blessedly cooler, there was a feeling of heaviness in the atmosphere. The stench of decay, from the rotting corpse of a donkey at the side of the road, assaulted the man’s nostrils, making the gorge rise in his throat. To an observant rat feeding on the feast the corpse provided, he must have appeared nervous, stopping, as he did every few minutes to glance back over his shoulder, as though he feared he was followed.
