by R. R. Vane
Judith perused the letter once more. Tristram was worried for his mother’s health and thought it more prudent to be by her side in this hour of need, but he was not asking for Judith to come and help him care for her.
“He has two sisters, doesn’t he, your husband?” her mother went on.
Judith nodded. One of Tristram’s sisters was at this time also by their mother’s side and this was perchance why Tristram didn’t feel the need to call upon his wife’s assistance. And Tristram had already written that his other sister was coming from her demesne to look upon their mother.
“I’m sure then that Lady Aelis’ daughters will provide the best care. And, after all, you are as yet untrained and untutored in both the healing arts and household matters,” Lady Fenice added.
Judith nodded, with a slight blush. Her mother was right. Here, Lady Fenice’s trusted companion, the redoubtable Dame Berthe, held the reins of their household under her mother’s very distant supervision. Judith had sought to aid in this ever since she’d grown older, but Lady Fenice had assured her there was plenty of time ahead of her to learn. Instead, her mother had trained her in the gentler arts ladies should master, so Judith was a fine weaver and embroiderer. Yet it was not in these arts that her talent truly lay. She was indeed an accomplished lute player and her singing voice was very fine. She could read and write Occitan and Norman and English and even understand Latin when required of her. She well recalled Tristram had spoken to her of his own home which lay in the vicinity of Winchester, where he hoped they would settle once she felt ready. She would soon need to learn the required accomplishments of tending a household.
As if she’d guessed her daughter’s thoughts, Lady Fenice nodded as she spoke, “There’s time enough to train you to become mistress of your own demesne. Since I suppose your husband will one day command you to leave your childhood home.”
Judith nearly flinched at the word command, because she was already having a hard time thinking she would ever have to leave Redmore. She loved her home and it was painful to picture her life in a different place.
“Tristram – he hasn’t pressed me for it. He understood I needed to be here by your side. Just as he now needs to be by his mother’s side. You do not think I should go to him?”
“He hasn’t sent for you. But I am sure he will be glad to see you if you think you must join him,” her mother told her, and Judith saw again she was trying to put on an encouraging smile.
In spite of this reassurance, her mother’s face was an open book to Judith, and she began to fear that Lady Fenice, who was at present feeling poorly yet again, could not spare her at this time.
“I shall write to Tristram and tell him we’ll send prayers for his mother’s swift recovery!”
And she did write to Tristram, hoping Lady Aelis would soon feel better and that the fever was only a passing ailment. Yet a month later, dire news reached them, that God had seen fit to take the lady Aelis from among the living. Tristram’s letter held bleak news and a warning. The same fever which had claimed his mother’s life had swept several households in the city of London, and it was not wise for Judith to try to join him there at this time.
“How wretched he must feel to have his dear mother gone!” Judith said with a deep sigh. “Perchance, in spite of his warning, I should go to be with him. I am safe and sound and have never been ill in my life.”
Her mother shook her head though, reminding her that her husband’s words were wise. He had commanded she should stay at Redmore and it would be unwise to disobey him at this time. Still, Judith disliked the use of the word command just as much as she had the first time when her mother had used it to speak of Tristram. But she recalled she’d never heard true command in Tristram’s voice whenever he spoke to her. She paused to think upon the danger which awaited her in London. She feared less for herself than for the loved ones who now resided there.
“But Father is in London,” she whispered in anguish.
Her father was in London, just as Tristram was, to attend Court business, and she didn’t like the thought of both her husband and her father being in a place where sickness was beginning to spread. Nevertheless she needn’t be told that King Henry’s commands were not to be ever disobeyed.
It was with an uneasy heart that Judith spent the next weeks, worrying over both her father and Tristram. Yet her mother was comforting whenever Judith spoke to her of these worries.
“Your husband’s young and hale. As for your father…”
Here Lady Fenice always glanced away from her daughter with a bitter twist of her mouth.
“Your father’s strong as an ox. Nothing can touch him,” she liked to add in a blank voice.
Yet not another month passed before more dire news reached them. The fever which had claimed the life of Tristram’s mother had also claimed Judith’s father. Judith stared at the unsealed letter from Tristram in disbelief mixed with searing pain.
“Father… So strong… Still in his prime,” she whispered, unwilling to keep tears at bay.
“May God have mercy upon his soul,” her mother said, her eyes dry. “He was a worthy man, in his own way.”
Judith nodded. She hadn’t known her father well, and hadn’t been too close to him, but upon his death she finally understood she had truly cared for him. Now that he was gone, she fully saw she would miss him very much, even if at times he had been harsh and uncaring in his ways. She stared at Tristram’s letter, trying to summon strength. Tristram warned it was unwise to join the city even now, and that he would make arrangements for a burial and a mass fit of Sir Edward’s birth and rank. Judith and her mother should be at peace that all the proper ways would be observed in this time of great need.
And Judith did her own part at Redmore to honour her father’s memory and work for the salvation of his soul. Mass was sung in Church, and a new chapel was commissioned, to remember her father by. Alms were given to the poor and money gifts to the servants, who, Judith understood, had loved their master well because they sincerely mourned his passing.
It was upon the third day of their mourning that Judith ventured to speak to her mother, knowing this shouldn’t be postponed, “Mother, I think perchance we should inquire of father’s…”
Judith was aware her mother didn’t ever like the words spoken in front of her. It was known to all that Judith’s father had kept a commoner in the village for his leman. And while Judith had never even spoken to this woman, she felt it was her duty to inquire about her, since her father was no longer among them. This woman had been under her father’s protection and it would be uncharitable of his family not to think of her. After all, many lords kept common women besides their wives, following the older Danish customs of times past, and Judith knew this well. Yet she also knew her mother had been deeply hurt by what her father had done. No matter what the old ways were and what many lords seemed to believe, it was utterly wrong for a husband to dishonour his wedding vows, Judith thought, and her father was certainly guilty of that sin. Nevertheless, things were what they were. This common woman had lain with her father, and her father’s bond to her could not be so easily dismissed.
“Your father’s woman, you mean,” Lady Fenice said in a hardened voice, straightening her back.
Judith nodded.
“I wouldn’t worry about that one,” her mother added, with a shrug and a bitter smile. “Women of her sort always manage.”
“Still,” Judith ventured. “I think it is only right she should receive assistance upon Father’s death.”
Her mother waved her hand carelessly, with a look of sheer disgust upon her face.
“Do whatever you wish. As long as you don’t set eyes upon her. I suppose we should show ourselves magnanimous. I would not have it said that people of our blood are ungracious to commoners, even to commoner harlots such as this one.”
Judith widened her eyes, because her gentle, soft-spoken mother never used coarse words and had always urged her to avoid such language. Her mother smiled ruef
ully, clasping Judith’s hand.
“I know, that was unkind of me to say, but it has always hurt so – the way your father chose to behave towards me. Well… may you never get to live what I have lived! Yet I expect you might one day. Most men are fickle.”
Her mother’s hand clasped hers firmly, and Judith thought of Tristram and of how apart he was from other men. For a moment she wanted to believe a man such as Tristram would never be fickle. She recalled though they’d been separated for many months, which had now nearly turned into a year. And they hadn’t even bedded. She was not as simple as to think a hale man of Tristram’s age didn’t have his own natural urges. And could she even blame him if he didn’t keep faith with her while they were parted? She knew most women of her station turned a blind eye to their husbands’ behaviour. Men have urges they cannot suppress, her aunt Edith had always said.
“Not Tristram!” Judith found herself suddenly whispering, although she knew it was silly of her to hope her husband would keep faith with a wife he hadn’t even bedded yet.
The way her mother looked at her nearly broke her heart.
“I’m sure you have the right of it, my sweet one,” Lady Fenice said, attempting to smile, but failing.
Judith tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. After all, Tristram and her had not yet shared their bodies, so she couldn’t hold anything of this sort against him. But why did it hurt so much to think upon him in another woman’s arms? Her mother had the right of it. The pain was fierce. Although she had at first wanted to look upon her father’s mistress, she decided not to do so and she only sent the gift of money she intended. It was with surprise that, a couple of days later, she found out the gift had been returned. It appeared her father’s mistress had no need of it.
Lady Fenice stared through her window, as if attempting to glance upon the village which lay beyond their castle.
“See, I did tell you, daughter, women of her sort always manage. One man or several can always be found to take care of their needs.”
Judith could understand her mother’s bitterness, because, for some days now, her own nights were filled not only with sad memories of her father, but also with frantic thoughts of Tristram in another woman’s arms. She missed him, and she wished he could come sooner, so they could start their life together and she could put her unseemly, jealous thoughts aside.
Chapter 9
Present time, 1174
Judith hardly saw her husband during the day and she strived not to think too much upon him as she busied herself with her tasks over the week that passed. With relief, she saw he didn’t seek as yet to change the ways in which she oversaw her household. It appeared she was still the lady of this house and of this demesne, and Tristram hardly interfered with her ruling over her people as he fulfilled the pressing duties of looking upon his men and upon the demesne’s defences. In this, he had mainly to deal with Sir Roderick, and Judith was mostly spared from her husband’s presence during the day. However, Judith was not as simple to believe this state of things would go on for much longer.
As the new lord of Redmore, Tristram was soon to take over several of the duties Judith had fulfilled until now. In truth, if their marriage had been a genuine one, Judith would have welcomed the presence of a husband who would share in the burden of overseeing their demesne. Yet their marriage was not a genuine one, and Judith had no doubt Tristram would not tarry to make it plain to her own people that she was only a chastened, repentant woman who lived under his rule. And while she’d been mainly spared from Tristram’s presence during the day, she always had to deal with him at night, when it was time to seek her bedchamber.
Indeed, tonight when Judith came to bed, she found Tristram had already had a bath and dressed for the night. She suppressed a sigh, bidding the servants to empty the tub, and she waited for them to bring it again, filled with new, hot water for her to bathe as well.
The servants fulfilled their duties diligently before retiring, but Judith now felt tired and cross, and in no mood at all for Tristram. By the way he was now looking upon her, he must be already thinking of chastising her again. Judith closed her eyes tiredly, not wanting to think of the spankings she’d already received from him, and of the way her treacherous quim had been gushing wet and pulsing shamefully for his thrust each time he was done punishing her.
At this time his brooding stare roamed upon her as she began to undress, and she found herself unwilling to hold her peace.
“Quit staring, please, my lord. I wish to have my bath in peace,” she found herself muttering, only belatedly understanding she was already giving Tristram further reason to claim she was in need of chastisement.
“Defiant words, since you’re my lawful wife and I can stare all I please,” Tristram soon countered just as she’d thought he would.
“And I suppose now you’ll spank me for them,” Judith said wearily, starting to step out of her gown.
Tristram said nothing, just letting his gaze linger upon her.
“Do you also plan on having to me tonight?” Judith asked, knowing already his course was set whatever she meant to say.
Again, Tristram said nothing.
“Because you can’t have me tonight,” Judith added mockingly, knowing he would not like at all that she was further defying him.
She stalled removing her underdress, loath to get naked in front of him at this time. All she wanted was to have her bath in peace, away from his sombre gaze.
“I did not think I would,” Tristram suddenly said in a quiet voice. “Not when your monthly flow is upon you.”
Judith’s cheeks heated, because he was the first man to speak of such things with her.
“How do you know?”
Tristram shrugged.
“I grew up with sisters,” he replied tersely, now turning his back on her to go to the window.
Judith felt grateful he had ceased staring at her. He blissfully ignored her when she had her bath and saw to the rags she’d been using for her monthly flow, replacing them with new ones. She soon felt refreshed after she’d had her bath and slipped into a clean shift. Yet, as she climbed into bed, she couldn’t help wondering whether Tristram might still want to punish her tonight. Her gaze upon him must have been searching and anxious, and he raised his dark eyebrows at her when he strode to the bed. However, with sheer relief, Judith perceived he was now reaching to snuff the candle. It seemed tonight she’d been given a reprieve.
“It’s best you saw the midwife in the village one of these days,” Tristram spoke in the dark as he was climbing into bed by her side.
“Midwife?” Judith asked, uncomprehending.
She sat up, downright puzzled, because it had been but a few days since they’d first coupled, and she was now having her courses. Surely, he wouldn’t think…
“I’m certain she will know of a brew, herbs and some such,” Tristram went on and his voice sounded cold. “I’ll have more care and will no longer spill my seed inside you, but it’s best to speak to her as well.”
As Judith recalled their heated couplings, with a fierce blush in her cheeks, she understood it was only twice that Tristram had given her his seed. She frowned, at first not understanding why that was, but then she remembered how the priest in her village had one day ranted in Church against those who coupled only for pleasure. He’d said both the men who withheld their seed and the women who used herbs and pessaries were certainly risking eternal damnation. At the time, Judith had not truly cared for his words, but now Tristram was acting just like those the priest had called sinful.
“Don’t you wish for a child?” Judith found herself asking.
She strived to tell herself that what he’d uttered was blasphemy, but at this time, when she conjured up the image of a child they might have, she could think only of her own estranged parents and of how they’d always looked upon one another coldly. It was a strange thought, yet it came unbidden. If Tristram and she soon had a child, it would be the child of bitter, estranged p
arents.
“Do you wish for children?” Tristram countered, and his voice sounded cold.
Children were God’s gift, Judith knew full well. At one time she’d thought she would give Tristram both sons and daughters and had welcomed the thought. Things between them had not been bitter then. Now Judith felt a chill run through her veins, understanding things between her and Tristram might always be just as bitter as they were now, in spite of the lusty heat when they coupled. Did that mean it was best not to ever have children?
“You will want sons. Not now perchance, but later. All men do,” Judith said, making her own voice cold and recalling what her mother had taught her.
Lady Fenice had schooled her on this, saying men set little store on daughters and wished for nothing but sons. Judith had always thought this unfair. And now she remembered she’d spoken to Tristram of this during the first days of their marriage. She plainly recalled Tristram had told her he would cherish a daughter just as much as he would a son. Had he been lying at the time, perceiving this was just what she’d wanted to hear?
“All men do, you say,” Tristram spoke in a voice which sounded mocking in the dark. “How well you seem to know the heart of men!”
His mockery stung, but Judith clamped her mouth shut, knowing it was no use to exchange angry words with him. She had well understood he no longer cared to hear anything she said. Yet she also noticed he had not said anything further of the sons he might wish to have one day. She suppressed a sigh, trying to chase away the heart-breaking feeling which enveloped her and striving not to think of the dreams she’d once had of a life where she would bear Tristram’s children.
“Go speak to the midwife. She would know how to advise you,” Tristram now commanded. “Her name’s Nell Tyler.”
“I know too well what her name is,” Judith retorted, hissing through gritted teeth.
But how did Tristram already know this woman? Judith recalled he had already visited the village several times since his arrival, so it was plain he must have met this woman there.
