World Without End

by Ken Follett

  "Yes, lord."

  Jerome said: "What am I to do with this Gaspard?"

  "Let me see," Roland said thoughtfully. "Wigleigh is on the edge of my territory, not far from my son William's landholding, is it not?"

  "Yes," Ralph said.

  "How far were you from the border when you met this girl?"

  "A mile. We were only just outside Wigleigh."

  "No matter." He turned to Jerome. "Everyone will know this is just an excuse, but tell Father Gaspard that the incident took place in Lord William's territory, so I can't adjudicate."

  "Very good, my lord."

  Ralph said: "What if they go to William?"

  "I doubt that they will. But if they persist, you'll have to come to some arrangement with William. The peasants will tire of complaining eventually."

  Ralph nodded, relieved. For a moment, he had suffered the dread thought that he had made a terrible error of judgment, and that after all he might be made to pay the price for raping Annet. But, in the end, he had got away with it, as he had expected to.

  "Thank you, my lord," he said.

  He wondered what his brother would say about this. The thought filled him with shame. But perhaps Merthin would never find out.

  "We must complain to Lord William," said Wulfric when they got back to Wigleigh.

  The entire village gathered in the church to discuss the matter. Father Gaspard and Nathan Reeve were there, but somehow Wulfric seemed to be the leader, despite his youth. He had gone to the front, leaving Gwenda and baby Sammy in the crowd.

  Gwenda was praying that they would decide to drop the matter. It was not that she wanted Ralph to go unpunished--on the contrary, she would have liked to see him boiled alive. She herself had killed two men for merely threatening her with rape, something she remembered, every now and again during the discussion, with a shudder. But she did not like Wulfric taking the leading role. It was partly because he was driven by the unquenched flame of his feeling for Annet, which hurt and saddened Gwenda. But, more importantly, she feared for him. The enmity between him and Ralph had already cost Wulfric his inheritance. What other vengeance would Ralph take?

  Perkin said: "I'm the father of the victim, and I don't want any more trouble over this. It's very dangerous to complain of the actions of a lord. He always finds a way to punish the complainers, right or wrong. Let's drop it."

  "Too late for that," said Wulfric. "We've already complained, or at least our priest has. There's nothing to be gained by backing down now."

  "We've gone far enough," Perkin argued. "Ralph has been embarrassed in front of his earl. He knows now that he can't do just whatever he pleases."

  "On the contrary," said Wulfric. "He thinks he's got away with it. I'm afraid he'll do it again. No woman in the village will be safe."

  Gwenda herself had said to Wulfric all the things Perkin was saying. Wulfric had not answered her. He had hardly spoken to her since she tripped him up at the back door of the manor house. At first, she had told herself that he was merely sulking because he had felt foolish. She had expected him to have forgotten about it by the time he returned from Earlscastle. But she had been wrong. He had not touched her, in bed or out of it, for a week; he rarely met her eye; and he talked to her in monosyllables and grunts. It was beginning to depress her.

  Nathan Reeve said: "You'll never win against Ralph. Serfs never overcome lords."

  "I'm not so sure," Wulfric said. "Everyone has enemies. We might not be the only people who would like to see Ralph reined in. Perhaps we will never see him convicted in court--but we must inflict the maximum of trouble and embarrassment on him if we want him to hesitate before doing this sort of thing again."

  Several villagers nodded agreement, but no one spoke in support of Wulfric, and Gwenda began to hope that he would lose the argument. However, her husband was nothing if not determined, and he now turned to the priest. "What do you think, Father Gaspard?"

  Gaspard was young, poor, and earnest. He had no fear of the nobility. He was not ambitious--he did not want to become a bishop and join the ruling class--so he felt no need to please aristocrats. He said: "Annet has been cruelly violated, the peace of our village has been criminally broken, and Lord Ralph has committed a wicked, vile sin which he must confess and repent. For the sake of the victim, for our own self-respect, and to save Lord Ralph from the flames of Hell, we must go to Lord William."

  There was a rumble of assent.

  Wulfric looked at Billy Howard and Annet, sitting side by side. In the end, Gwenda thought, people would probably do what Annet and Billy wanted. "I don't want trouble," Billy said. "But we should finish what we've started, for the sake of all the women in the village."

  Annet did not raise her eyes from the floor, but she nodded assent, and Gwenda realized with dismay that Wulfric had won.

  "Well, you got what you wanted," she said to him as they left the church.

  He grunted.

  She persisted: "So, I suppose you will continue to risk your life for the honor of Billy Howard's wife, while refusing to speak to your own wife."

  He said nothing. Sammy sensed the hostility and began to cry.

  Gwenda felt desperate. She had moved heaven and earth to get the man she loved, she had married him and had his baby, and now he was treating her like an enemy. Her father had never behaved this way to her mother--not that Joby's behavior was a model for anyone. But she had no idea how to deal with him. She had tried using Sammy, holding him in one arm while touching Wulfric with the other hand, in an attempt to win back his affection by associating herself with the baby boy he loved; but he just moved away, rejecting them both. She had even tried sex, pressing her breasts against his back at night, brushing her hand across his belly, touching his penis, but it did not work--as she might have known, remembering how resistant he had been last summer, before Annet married Billy.

  Now, in frustration, she cried out: "What is wrong with you? I only tried to save your life!"

  "You should not have done it," he said.

  "If I'd let you kill Ralph, you'd have been hanged!"

  "You had no right."

  "What does it matter if I had the right or not?"

  "That's your father's philosophy, isn't it?"

  She was startled. "What do you mean?"

  "Your father believes it doesn't matter whether or not he has the right to do something. If it's for the best, he does it. Like selling you to feed his family."

  "They sold me to be raped! I tripped you up to save you from the gallows. That's completely different."

  "As long as you go on telling yourself that, you'll never understand him or me."

  She realized she was not going to win back his affection by trying to prove him wrong. "Well...I don't understand, then."

  "You took away my power to make my own decisions. You treated me the way your father treated you, as a thing to be controlled, not as a person. It doesn't matter whether I was right or wrong. What matters is that it was up to me to decide, not you. But you can't see that, just as your father can't see what he took away from you when he sold you."

  She still thought the two things were completely different, but she did not argue the point, because she was beginning to see what had made him angry. He was passionate about his independence--something she could empathize with, for she felt the same way. And she had robbed him of that. She said falteringly: "I...I think I understand."

  "Do you?"

  "At any rate, I'll try not to do anything of that kind again."

  "Good."

  She only half believed she had been wrong, but she was desperate to end the war between them, so she said: "I'm very sorry."

  "All right."

  He wasn't saying much, but she sensed he might be softening. "You know that I don't want you to complain to Lord William about Ralph--but, if you're determined to, I won't try to stop you."

  "I'm glad."

  "In fact," she said, "I might be able to help you."

  "O
h?" he said. "How?"

  36

  The home of Lord William and Lady Philippa, at Casterham, had once been a castle. There was still a round stone keep with battlements, though it was in ruins and used as a cowshed. The wall around the courtyard was intact, but the moat had dried up, and the ground in the slight remaining dip was used to grow vegetables and fruit trees. Where once there had been a drawbridge, a simple ramp now led up to the gatehouse.

  Gwenda, carrying Sammy, passed under the arch of the gatehouse with Father Gaspard, Billy Howard, Annet, and Wulfric. A young man-at-arms was lolling on a bench, presumably on guard, but he saw the priest's robe and did not challenge them. The relaxed atmosphere encouraged Gwenda. She was hoping to get a private audience with Lady Philippa.

  They entered the house by the main door and found themselves in a traditional great hall, with high windows like those of a church. It seemed to take up about half the total space of the house. The rest, presumably, would be personal chambers, in the modern fashion, which emphasized the privacy of the noble family and played down military defenses.

  A middle-aged man in a leather tunic was sitting at a table counting notches on a tally stick. He glanced up at them, finished his count, made a note on a slate, then said: "Good day to you, strangers."

  "Good day, Master Bailiff," said Gaspard, deducing the man's occupation. "We've come to see Lord William."

  "He's expected back by suppertime, Father," the bailiff said politely. "What's your business with him, may I ask?"

  Gaspard began to explain, and Gwenda slipped back outside.

  She went around the house to the domestic end. There was a wooden extension that she guessed was the kitchen. A maid sat on a stool by the kitchen door with a sack of cabbages, washing the mud off in a big bowl of water. The maid was young, and looked fondly at the baby. "How old is he?" she said.

  "Four months, nearly five. His name is Samuel. We call him Sammy, or Sam."

  The baby smiled at the girl, and she said: "Ah."

  Gwenda said: "I'm just an ordinary woman, like you, but I need to speak to the Lady Philippa."

  The girl frowned and looked troubled. "I'm only the kitchen maid," she said.

  "But you must see her sometimes. You could speak to her for me."

  She glanced behind her, as if worried about being overheard. "I don't like to."

  Gwenda realized this might be more difficult than she had anticipated. "Couldn't you just give her a message for me?" she said.

  The maid shook her head.

  Then a voice came from inside: "Who wants to send me a message?"

  Gwenda tensed, wondering if she was in trouble. She looked toward the kitchen door.

  A moment later, Lady Philippa stepped out.

  She was not quite beautiful, and certainly not pretty, but she was good-looking. She had a straight nose and a strong jaw, and her green eyes were large and clear. She was not smiling, in fact she wore a slight frown, but nevertheless there was something friendly and understanding about her face.

  Gwenda answered her question. "I'm Gwenda from Wigleigh, my lady."

  "Wigleigh." Philippa's frown deepened. "And what do you have to say to me?"

  "It's about Lord Ralph."

  "I was afraid it might be. Well, come inside and let's warm that baby by the kitchen fire."

  Many noble ladies would have refused to speak to someone as lowly as Gwenda, but she had guessed that Philippa had a big heart underneath that rather formidable exterior. She followed Philippa inside. Sammy began to grizzle, and Gwenda gave him the breast.

  "You can sit down," Philippa said.

  That was even more unusual. A serf would normally remain standing when talking to a lady. Philippa was being kind because of the baby, Gwenda guessed.

  "All right, out with it," Philippa said. "What has Ralph done?"

  "You may remember, lady, a fight at the Fleece Fair in Kingsbridge last year."

  "I certainly do. Ralph groped a peasant girl, and her handsome young fiance broke his nose. The boy shouldn't have done it, of course, but Ralph is a brute."

  "Indeed he is. Last week he came across the same girl, Annet, in the woods. His squire held her down while Ralph raped her."

  "Oh, God save us." Philippa looked distressed. "Ralph is an animal, a pig, a wild boar. I knew he should never have been made a lord. I told my father-in-law not to promote him."

  "A pity the earl didn't follow your advice."

  "And I suppose the fiance wants justice."

  Gwenda hesitated. She was not sure how much of the complicated story to tell. But she sensed it would be a mistake to hold anything back. "Annet is married, lady, but to a different man."

  "So what lucky girl got Mr. Handsome?"

  "As it happens, Wulfric married me."

  "Congratulations."

  "Though Wulfric is here, with Annet's husband, to bear witness."

  Philippa gave Gwenda a sharp look, and seemed about to comment, then changed her mind. "So why have you come here? Wigleigh is not in my husband's territory."

  "The incident happened in the forest, and the earl says it was on Lord William's land, so he can't adjudicate."

  "That's an excuse. Roland adjudicates anything he likes. He just doesn't want to punish a man he's recently elevated."

  "Anyway, our village priest is here to tell Lord William what happened."

  "And what do you want me to do?"

  "You're a woman, you understand. You know how men make excuses for rape. They say the girl must have been flirting, or doing something provocative."

  "Yes."

  "If Ralph gets away with this, he might do it again--perhaps to me."

  "Or me," said Philippa. "You should see the way he stares at me--like a dog looking at a goose on the pond."

  That was encouraging. "Perhaps you can make Lord William understand how important it is that Ralph should not get away with this."

  Philippa nodded. "I think I can."

  Sammy had stopped sucking and gone to sleep. Gwenda stood up. "Thank you, lady."

  "I'm glad you came to me," said Philippa.

  Lord William summoned them the next morning. They met with him in the great hall. Gwenda was glad to see Lady Philippa sitting beside him. She gave Gwenda a friendly look, and Gwenda hoped that meant she had spoken to her husband.

  William was tall and black-haired, like his father the earl, but he was going bald, and the dome above the dark beard and eyebrows suggested a more thoughtful kind of authority, matching his reputation. He examined the bloodstained dress and looked at Annet's bruises, which were blue now, rather than the original angry red. All the same, they brought a look of fury to Lady Philippa's face. Gwenda guessed it was not so much the severity of the injuries as the grim picture they conjured up of a brawny squire kneeling on a girl's arms to hold her down while another man raped her.

  "Well, you've done everything correctly so far," William said to Annet. "You went immediately to the nearest village, you showed your injuries to men of good reputation there, and you named your attacker. Now you have to offer a bill to a justice of the peace in the Shiring County Court."

  She looked anxious. "What does that mean?"

  "A bill is an accusation, written in Latin."

  "I can't write English, lord, let alone Latin."

  "Father Gaspard can do it for you. The justice will put the bill before an indicting jury, and you will tell them what happened. Can you do that? They may ask for embarrassing details."

  Annet nodded determinedly.

  "If they believe you, they will order the sheriff to summon Lord Ralph to the court a month later to be tried. Then you will need two sureties, people who will pledge a sum of money to guarantee that you will appear at the trial."

  "But who will be my sureties?"

  "Father Gaspard can be one, and I will be the other. I'll put up the money."

  "Thank you, lord!"

  "Thank my wife, who has persuaded me that I can't allow the king's p
eace to be breached on my territory by an act of rape."

  Annet shot a grateful look at Philippa.

  Gwenda looked at Wulfric. She had told her husband about her conversation with the lord's wife. Now he met her eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. He knew she had made this happen.

  William went on: "At the trial, you will tell your story again. Your friends will all have to be witnesses: Gwenda will say she saw you coming from the forest in your bloodstained dress, Father Gaspard will say you told him what happened, Wulfric will say he saw Ralph and Alan riding away from the scene."

  They all nodded solemnly.

  "One more thing. Having started something like this, you can't stop it. Withdrawing an appeal is an offense, and you would be severely punished--to say nothing of what revenge Ralph might take on you."

  Annet said: "I won't change my mind. But what will happen to Ralph? How will he be punished?"

  "Oh, there's only one penalty for rape," said Lord William. "He'll be hanged."

  They all slept in the great hall of the castle, with William's servants and squires and dogs, wrapping their cloaks around them and nestling into the carpet of rushes on the floor. As the light from the embers in the huge fireplace dimmed to a glow, Gwenda hesitantly reached for her husband, putting a tentative hand on his arm, stroking the wool of his cloak. They had not made love since the rape, and she was unsure whether he wanted her or not. She had angered him grievously by tripping him up: would he feel that her intervention with Lady Philippa made up for that?

  He responded immediately, drawing her to him and kissing her lips. She relaxed gratefully into his arms. They toyed with each other for a while. Gwenda was so happy she wanted to weep.

  She waited for him to roll on top of her, but he did not do so. She could tell he wanted to, for he was being very affectionate, and his penis was hard in her hand; but perhaps he hesitated to do it in the company of so many others. People did have sex in halls like this, of course; it was normal, and no one took any notice. But perhaps Wulfric felt shy.