Epic Historial Collection (216 page)

Gwenda gasped. “But Lib Wheeler has a two-year-old!”

“And now little Bennie has no father.”

Gwenda was dismayed for herself as well as for Lib. “So a brother's influence won't help.”

“Let's go and see Merthin anyway. He's working on Leper Island today.”

They left the house and walked down the main street to the riverside. Gwenda was discouraged. Everyone believed her chances were slender. It was so unfair.

They got Ian Boatman to row them across to the island. Caris explained that the old bridge was to be replaced by two new ones which would use the island as a stepping stone.

They found Merthin with his boy assistant, fourteen-year-old Jimmie, laying out the abutments of the new bridge. His measuring stick was an iron pole more than twice the height of a man, and he was hammering pointed stakes into the rocky ground to mark where the foundations must be dug.

Gwenda watched the way Caris and Merthin kissed. It was different. There was a cozy relish in one another's bodies that seemed new. It matched how Gwenda herself felt about Wulfric. His body was not just desirable, it was hers to enjoy. It seemed to belong to her the way her own body did.

She and Caris watched while Merthin finished what he was doing, tying a length of twine between two stakes. Then he told Jimmie to pack up the tools.

Gwenda said: “I suppose there's not much you can do without stone.”

“There are some preparations we can make. But I've sent all the masons to the quarry. They're dressing the stones there, instead of here on-site. We're building a stockpile.”

“So, if you win your case in the royal court, you can start building right away.”

“I hope so. It depends on how long the case takes—and the weather. We can't build in deepest winter, in case the frost freezes the mortar. It's October already. We normally stop around the middle of November.” He looked up at the sky. “We might have a bit longer this year—rain clouds keep the earth warm.”

Gwenda told him what she wanted.

“I wish I could help you,” Merthin said. “Wulfric is a decent man, and that fight was entirely Ralph's fault. But I've quarreled with my brother. Before asking him a favor, I'd have to make friends. And I can't forgive him for killing Ben Wheeler.”

It was the third negative response in a row, Gwenda thought glumly. Perhaps this was a foolish errand.

Caris said: “You may have to do this on your own.”

“Yes, I will,” Gwenda said decisively. It was time to stop asking for other people's help and start relying on herself—the way she had all her life. “Ralph is here in town, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Merthin said. “He came to tell our parents the good news about his promotion. They're the only people in the county who are celebrating.”

“But he's not staying with them.”

“He's too grand for that now. He's at the Bell.”

“What would be the best way to persuade him?”

Merthin thought for a few moments. “Ralph feels our father's humiliation—a knight reduced to the status of a pensioner of the priory. He'll do anything that seems to enhance his social position.”

Gwenda thought about that as Ian Boatman rowed them all back to the city. How could she present her request as a way for Ralph to raise his standing? It was midday as she walked up the main street with the others. Merthin was going to Caris's house for dinner, and Caris invited Gwenda to join them, but she was impatient to see Ralph, and she went on to the Bell.

A potboy told her Ralph was upstairs in the best room. Most lodgers slept in a communal dormitory: Ralph was emphasizing his new position by taking an entire room—paid for, Gwenda thought sourly, out of the meager harvests of Wigleigh peasants.

She knocked at the door and went in.

Ralph was there with his squire, Alan Fernhill, a boy of about eighteen with big shoulders and a small head. On the table between them stood a jug of ale, a loaf, and a joint of hot beef with a wisp of steam coming from it. They were finishing their dinner and looked thoroughly contented with their lot in life, Gwenda thought. She hoped they were not too drunk: men in that state could not talk to women; all they could do was make ribald remarks and laugh helplessly at each other's wit.

Ralph peered at her: the room was not well lit. “You're one of my serfs, aren't you?”

“No, my lord, but I'd like to be. I'm Gwenda, and my father is Joby, a landless laborer.”

“And what are you doing so far from the village? It's not market day.”

She moved a step farther into the room so that she could see his face more clearly. “Sir, I come to plead for Wulfric, son of the late Samuel. I know that he behaved disrespectfully to you once but, since then, he has suffered the torments of Job. His parents and brother were killed when the bridge collapsed, all the family's money was lost, and now his fiancée has married someone else. I hope you might feel that God has punished him harshly for the wrong he did you, and it is time for you to show mercy.” Remembering what Merthin had advised, she added: “The mercy characteristic of the true nobleman.”

He belched fruitily and sighed. “What do you care whether Wulfric inherits?”

“I love him, my lord. Now that he has been rejected by Annet, I hope he may marry me—with your gracious permission, of course.”

“Come closer,” he said.

She moved into the center of the room and stood in front of him.

His eyes roamed all over her body. “You're not a pretty girl,” he said. “But there's something about you. Are you a virgin?”

“Lord—I…I…”

“Obviously not,” he laughed. “Have you lain with Wulfric yet?”

“No!”

“Liar.” He grinned, enjoying himself. “Well, now, what if I let Wulfric have his father's lands after all? Perhaps I should. What then?”

“You would be called a true nobleman by Wigleigh and all the world.”

“The world won't care. But will you be grateful to me?”

Gwenda had a horrible feeling that she knew where this was leading. “Of course, deeply grateful.”

“And how would you show it?”

She backed toward the door. “Any way I could without shame.”

“Would you take off your dress?”

Her heart sank. “No, lord.”

“Ah. Not so grateful, then.”

She reached the door and touched the handle, but she did not go out. “What…what are you asking me, lord?”

“I want to see you naked. Then I'll decide.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Alan. “In front of him?”

“Yes.”

It did not seem much, to show herself to these two men—not by comparison with the prize, winning Wulfric's inheritance back.

Swiftly, she undid her belt and pulled her dress over her head. She held the dress in her hand, keeping the other hand on the doorknob, and stared defiantly at Ralph. He looked greedily at her body, then glanced over at his companion with a grin of triumph; and Gwenda saw that this was about showing his power as much as anything else.

Ralph said: “An ugly cow, but nice udders—eh, Alan?”

Alan replied: “I wouldn't climb over her to get at you.”

Ralph laughed.

Gwenda said: “Now will you grant my petition?”

Ralph put his hand to his crotch and began to stroke himself. “Lie with me,” he said. “On that bed.”

“No.”

“Come on—you've already done it with Wulfric, you're no virgin.”

“No.”

“Think of the lands—ninety acres, all that his father had.”

She thought. If she agreed, Wulfric would have his heart's desire—and the two of them could look forward to a life of plenty. If she continued to refuse, Wulfric would be a landless laborer, like Joby, struggling all his life to make enough to feed his children, and often failing.

Still the thought revolted her. Ralph was an unpleasant man, petty and vengeful, a bully—so different from his brother. His being tall and handsome made little difference. It would be disgusting to lie with someone she disliked so much.

The fact that she had done it with Wulfric only yesterday made the prospect of sex with Ralph even more repellent. After her night of happy intimacy with Wulfric, it would be a terrible betrayal to do the same with another man.

Don't be a fool, she told herself. For the sake of five minutes of unpleasantness, will you condemn yourself to a life of hardship? She thought of her mother, and the babies that had died. She remembered the stealing she and Philemon had been forced to do. Was it not better to prostitute herself to Ralph one time, for just a few moments, than to condemn her unborn children to a life of poverty?

Ralph remained quiet while she vacillated. He was wise: any words from him would only have strengthened her revulsion. Silence served him better.

“Please,” Gwenda said at last. “Don't make me do this.”

“Ah,” he said. “That tells me you're willing.”

“It's a sin,” she said desperately. She did not often talk about sin, but she thought there was a chance it might move him. “A sin for you to ask, and a sin for me to agree.”

“Sins can be forgiven.”

“What would your brother think of you?”

That gave him pause. For a moment he seemed to hesitate.

“Please,” she said. “Just let Wulfric inherit.”

His face hardened again. “I've made my decision. I'm not going to reverse it—unless you can persuade me. And just saying please won't work.” His eyes glistened with desire, and he was breathing a little faster, his mouth open, his lips moist behind his beard.

She dropped her dress to the floor and walked to the bed.

“Kneel on the mattress,” Ralph said. “No, facing away from me.”

She did as he said.

“Better view from this side,” he said, and Alan laughed loudly. Gwenda wondered if Alan was going to stay to watch, but then Ralph said: “Leave us alone.” A moment later the door slammed.

Ralph knelt on the bed behind Gwenda. She closed her eyes and prayed for forgiveness. She felt his thick fingers exploring her. She heard him spit, then he rubbed a wet hand on her. A moment later he entered her. She groaned with shame.

Ralph misinterpreted the sound and said: “You like that, eh?”

She wondered how long this would take. He began to move rhythmically. To ease the discomfort she moved with him, and he laughed triumphantly, thinking he had excited her lust. Her greatest fear was that this would sour her entire experience of lovemaking. In future, when she lay with Wulfric, would she think of this moment?

And then, to her horror, a warm flush of pleasure began to spread through her loins. She felt her face redden in shame. Despite her profound repugnance, her body betrayed her, and moisture flooded inside her, easing the friction of his thrusts. He sensed the change and moved faster. Disgusted with herself, she ceased to match his rhythm; but he grabbed her hips, pushing and pulling alternately, and she was helpless to resist. She remembered with dismay that her body had undermined her in the same way with Alwyn in the forest. Then as now, she had wanted her body to be a wooden statue, numb and impassive; both times, it had responded against her will.

She had killed Alwyn with his own knife.

She could not do the same to Ralph, even if she had wanted to, because he was behind her. She could not see him, and she had little control over her body. She was in his hands. She was glad when she sensed that he was approaching the climax. Soon it would be over. She felt an answering pressure in her own loins. She tried to make her body limp and her mind blank: it would be too humiliating if she, too, reached a climax. She felt Ralph ejaculate inside her, and she shuddered, not with pleasure but with loathing.

He sighed with satisfaction, withdrew from her, and lay flat on the bed.

She got up and quickly pulled on her dress.

“That was better than I expected,” Ralph said, as if he were paying her some kind of polite compliment.

She went out and slammed the door behind her.

 

On the following Sunday, before church, Nathan Reeve came to Wulfric's house.

Gwenda and Wulfric were sitting in the kitchen. They had had breakfast and swept the room, and now Wulfric was sewing a pair of leather trousers while Gwenda wove a belt from cords. They sat close to the window, for better light—it was raining again.

Gwenda was pretending to live in the barn, so that Father Gaspard would not be offended, but she spent every night with Wulfric. He had not mentioned marriage, which disappointed her. However, they were living more or less as man and wife, in the way that people often did when they intended to marry as soon as they got around to the formalities. The nobility and the gentry were permitted no such laxity, but it was routinely overlooked among the peasantry.