Epic Historial Collection (215 page)

He moved in his sleep several times. He turned and lay flat on his back, whereupon she put her head on his shoulder and her arm across his flat belly. Later he turned away, and then she moved really close, fitting herself into the S-shape of his body, pressing her breasts against his broad back, her hips into his, her knees into the backs of his knees. Then he turned back to her, flinging one arm across her shoulders and one leg over her thighs. His leg was painfully heavy, but she relished the ache as proof that she was not dreaming.

He dreamed, though. In the middle of the night he suddenly kissed her, thrusting his tongue roughly into her mouth, grasping her breast with one big hand. She felt his erection as he rubbed up against her clumsily. For a moment she was bewildered. He could have her whatever way he wanted, but it was unlike him to be anything but gentle. She put her hand to his groin and grasped his penis, which was sticking out through the slit in his underdrawers. Then, just as suddenly, he turned away and lay on his back, breathing rhythmically, and she realized that he had never woken up, but had touched her in a dream. He was undoubtedly dreaming of Annet, she realized ruefully.

She did not sleep, but she daydreamed. She imagined him introducing her to a stranger, saying: “This is my wife, Gwenda.” She saw herself pregnant, but still working in the fields, and fainting in the middle of the day; and in her fantasy he picked her up and carried her home, and bathed her face with cold water. She saw him as an old man, playing with their grandchildren, indulging them, giving them apples and honeycombs.

Grandchildren? she thought wryly. It was a big edifice to build on the strength of his allowing her to put her arm around him while he cried himself to sleep.

When she was thinking that it must be almost dawn, and her stay in paradise might soon be over, he begin to stir. His breathing changed. He rolled onto his back. Her arm fell across his chest and she left it there, tucking her hand under his arm. After a few moments she sensed that he was awake, thinking. She lay still, afraid that if she spoke or moved she would break the spell.

Eventually he rolled back toward her. He put his arm around her, and she felt his hand on the bare skin of her back. He stroked her there, but she did not know what the caress meant: he seemed to be exploring, surprised to find that she was naked. His hand went up to her neck and all the way down to the curve of her hip.

At last he spoke. As if afraid of being overheard, he whispered: “She married him.”

Gwenda whispered back: “Yes.”

“Her love is weak.”

“True love is never weak.”

His hand remained on her hip, maddeningly close to the places where she wanted him to touch her.

He said: “Will I ever stop loving her?”

Gwenda took his hand and moved it. “She has two breasts, like these,” she said, still whispering. She did not know why she did it: intuition was guiding her, and she followed it for good or ill.

He groaned, and she felt his hand close gently over one, then the other.

“And she has hair down here, like this,” she said, moving his hand again. His breathing became faster. Leaving his hand there, she explored his body beneath his wool shift, and found that he had an erection. She grasped it and said: “Her hand feels just like this.” He began to move his hips rhythmically.

She suddenly felt afraid that the act would be over before it was fully consummated. She did not want that. It was all or nothing now. She pushed him gently on to his back, then quickly raised herself and straddled him. “Inside, she's hot and wet,” she said, and she lowered herself onto him. Although she had done it before, it had not been anything like this; she felt filled up and yet she wanted more. She moved down against the thrust of his hips, then up as he withdrew. She lowered her face to his and kissed his bearded mouth.

He held her head in his hands and kissed her back.

“She loves you,” Gwenda whispered to him. “She loves you so much.”

He cried out with passion, and she was rocked up and down, riding his hips like a wild pony, until at last she felt him come inside her, and he gave one last cry, then said: “Oh, I love you too! I love you, Annet!”

28

W
ulfric went back to sleep, but Gwenda lay awake. She was too excited to sleep. She had won his love—she knew it. It hardly mattered that she had had to half-pretend to be Annet. He had made love to her with such hunger, and had kissed her afterward with such tenderness and gratitude, that she felt he was hers forever.

When her heart stopped racing and her mind calmed down, she thought about his inheritance. She was not willing to give up on it, especially now. As dawn broke outside, she racked her brains for some way to save it. When Wulfric woke up, she said: “I'm going to Kingsbridge.”

He was startled. “Why?”

“To find out whether there's some way you can still inherit.”

“How?”

“I don't know. But Ralph hasn't given the land to anyone else yet, so there's still a chance. And you deserve it—you've worked so hard and suffered so much.”

“What will you do?”

“I'll see my brother Philemon. He understands these things better than we do. He'll know what we need to do.”

Wulfric looked at her strangely.

She said: “What is it?”

He said: “You really love me, don't you?”

She smiled, full of happiness, and said: “Let's do it again, shall we?”

On the following morning she was at Kingsbridge Priory, sitting on the stone bench by the vegetable garden, waiting for Philemon. During the long walk from Wigleigh she had gone over every second of Sunday night in her mind, relishing the physical pleasures, puzzling over the words spoken. Wulfric still had not said that he loved her, but he had said: “You really love me.” And he had seemed pleased that she loved him, albeit a bit bewildered by the strength of her passion.

She longed to win back his birthright. She yearned for it almost as much as she had yearned for him. She wanted it for both of them. Even if he were a landless laborer like her father, she would marry him, given the chance; but she wanted better for them both, and she was determined to get it.

When Philemon came out of the priory into the garden to greet her, she saw immediately that he was wearing the robes of a novice monk. “Holger!” she said, using his real name in her shock. “You're a novice—

He smiled proudly, and benignly overlooked the use of his old name. “It was one of Godwyn's first acts as prior,” he said. “He is a wonderful man. It's such an honor to serve him.” He sat beside her on the bench. It was a mild autumn day, cloudy but dry.

“And how are you getting on with your lessons?”

“Slowly. It's hard to learn to read and write when you're grown-up.” He grimaced. “The small boys progress faster than I do. But I can copy out the Lord's Prayer in Latin.”

She envied him. She could not even write her name. “That's wonderful!” she said. Her brother was on his way to achieving his life's dream, and becoming a monk. Perhaps the status of novice might ameliorate the feelings of worthlessness that, she felt sure, accounted for his sometimes being sly and deceitful.

“But what about you?” he said. “Why have you come to Kingsbridge?”

“Did you know that Ralph Fitzgerald has become lord of Wigleigh?”

“Yes. He's here in town, staying at the Bell, living it up.”

“He has refused to let Wulfric inherit his father's land.” She told Philemon the story. “I want to know whether the decision can be contested.”

Philemon shook his head. “The short answer is no. Wulfric could appeal to the earl of Shiring, of course, asking him to overturn Ralph's decision, but the earl won't intervene unless he has a personal stake. Even if he thinks the decision unjust—which it obviously is—he won't undermine the authority of a new appointee. But what's your interest? I thought Wulfric was going to marry Annet.”

“When Ralph announced his decision, Annet jilted Wulfric and married Billy Howard.”

“And now you have a chance with Wulfric.”

“I think so.” She felt herself blush.

“How do you know?” he asked shrewdly.

“I took advantage of him,” she confessed. “When he was distraught over the wedding, I went to his bed.”

“Don't worry. We who are born poor have to use cunning to get what we want. Scruples are for the privileged.”

She did not really like to hear him talk that way. Sometimes he seemed to think that any behavior could be excused by their difficult childhood. But she was too disappointed to worry about that. “Is there really nothing I can do?”

“Oh, I didn't say that. It can't be contested, I said. But Ralph might be talked around.”

“Not by me, I'm sure.”

“I don't know. Why don't you go and see Godwyn's cousin Caris? You've been friends with her since you were girls. She'll help you if she can. And she's close to Ralph's brother, Merthin. Perhaps he can think of something.”

Any hope was better than none. Gwenda stood up to go. “I'll see her right away.” She leaned forward to kiss her brother good-bye, then realized that he was forbidden such contact now. Instead, she clasped his hand, which seemed peculiar.

“I'll pray for you,” he said.

Caris's house was opposite the priory gates. When Gwenda went in, there was no one in the dining hall, but she heard voices in the parlor, where Edmund usually did business. The cook, Tutty, told her Caris was with her father. Gwenda sat down to wait, tapping her foot impatiently, but after a few minutes the door opened.

Edmund came out accompanied by a man she did not recognize. He was tall, and had flared nostrils that gave his face a supercilious look. He wore the black robe of a priest, but no cross or other sacred symbol. Edmund nodded amiably to Gwenda and said to the stranger: “I'll walk you back to the priory.”

Caris followed the two men out of the parlor and embraced Gwenda. “Who was that man?” Gwenda asked as soon as he had left.

“His name is Gregory Longfellow. He's the lawyer hired by Prior Godwyn.”

“Hired for what?”

“Earl Roland has stopped the priory taking stone from its quarry. He's trying to charge a penny a cartload. Godwyn is going to appeal to the king.”

“Are you involved?”

“Gregory thinks we must argue that the town will be unable to pay its taxes without a bridge. That's the best way to persuade the king, he says. So my father will go with Godwyn to testify at the royal court.”

“Will you go, too?”

“Yes. But tell me why you're here?”

“I lay with Wulfric.”

Caris smiled. “Really? At last! How was it?”

“It was wonderful. I lay beside him all night while he slept, then when he woke up I…persuaded him.”

“Tell me more, I want all the details.”

Gwenda told Caris the story. At the end, even though she was impatient to get on to the real purpose of her visit, she said: “But something tells me you have news of the same kind.”

Caris nodded. “I lay with Merthin. I told him I didn't want to get married, and he went off to see that fat sow Bessie Bell, and I got upset at the thought of her sticking out her big tits at him—then he came back, and I was so pleased I just had to do it with him.”

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it. It's the best thing ever. And it gets better. We do it whenever we get the chance.”

“What if you get pregnant?”

“I'm not even thinking about that. I don't care if I die. One time—” She lowered her voice. “One time, we bathed in a pool in the forest, and afterwards he licked me…down there.”

“Oh, disgusting! What was it like?”

“Nice. He liked it, too.”

“You didn't do the same to him.”

“Yes.”

“But did he…?”

Caris nodded. “In my mouth.”

“Wasn't it foul?”

Caris shrugged. “It tastes funny…but it's so exciting to feel that happen. And he enjoyed it so much.”

Gwenda was shocked but intrigued. Perhaps she should do that to Wulfric. She knew a place where they could bathe, a stream in the forest far from any roads…

Caris said: “But you didn't come all this way just to tell me about Wulfric.”

“No. It's about his inheritance.” Gwenda explained Ralph's decision. “Philemon thought perhaps Merthin could persuade Ralph to change his mind.”

Caris shook her head pessimistically. “I doubt it. They've quarreled.”

“Oh, no!”

“It was Ralph who stopped the carts leaving the quarry. Unfortunately, Merthin was there at the time. There was a fight. Ben Wheeler killed one of the earl's ruffians, and Ralph killed Ben.”