Hot Summer's Knight (10 page)

Jessamine did.  She knew she was just as good as any lord or lady.

So the troubadour thought he was too good for her, did he?  One day, she’d find out who her rival was, and she’d destroy her.

One day, Gareth the Troubadour would wish he hadn’t refused what she’d offered.

***

Berenice was so excited, she was nearly bursting with her news.  She almost ran back down the path from the monastery to the castle, her feet flying over the rough gravel.

Within sight of the castle walls, sobriety reclaimed her.  She couldn’t tell Gareth, not yet.  She wasn’t certain Odo would succeed in his mission, after all.

She couldn’t love Gareth – could she? She’d known him only a few days.  These feelings she had whenever he was near were more like a strange illness.  Speech became difficult, her heart raced, she felt unusually warm.  Surely these were the symptoms of a malady!

Esme would know.  Esme had been her comfort in every disaster, for as long as she could remember.

She walked through the gates, her eyes naturally seeking a glimpse of Gareth.  She found him, up on the ramparts with William, deep in discussion.  She’d been meaning to talk to William about the state of repair of the castle’s defenses for some time.  Now the two men seemed to have taken the job in hand.

Esme was in the courtyard, with Marie.  The two women had been collecting the laundry from the bushes near the river where it had dried.  Marie took care of the larger items, like the sheets.  Esme had always done Berenice’s personal garments.  Marie and Esme had long enjoyed each other’s company when the laundry was being done; it gave them a chance to exchange the news and gossip of the valley.

“Esme!” called Berenice.

Esme waved and smiled as Berenice approached.

“I need your company for a little while.  Will you come with me to my chamber?” said Berenice.

“I was on my way there already, my Lady,” Esme answered as Berenice drew closer, “I have your shifts to fold.”

The two women walked companionably to the tower.

The laundry was laid out Berenice’s large bed, and the two women talked as they worked together.

“I went to see Odo today,”  said Berenice, absorbed in her task.

“How does he fare? Well I trust?” answered Esme without looking up.

“As always.  No, he may be even larger.  There are clearly some earthly pleasures Odo’s unable to live without.”

They both laughed.  Berenice’s brother’s appetite for food and wine was a source of much good natured amusement in the valley.

Berenice took a deep breath, and launched into her story.

“Esme, I’ve asked Odo if he thinks it might be possible for me to petition the bishop for an annulment of my marriage.”

Esme dropped the piece of linen she was holding.  “But how?  Why?  You’re married, everyone knows you’re married!”

Berenice intently smoothed the creases from a shift, while she thought about the next part of her story.  There was nothing for it; Esme had to be told everything.

“On my wedding night…”

“The sheets!  There was proof!  Everyone saw it.”

Berenice straightened, and faced Esme.  “I cut myself, Esme.  I swear to you, my husband did not touch me that night, or on any other.”

“Oh, dear!”

To Berenice’s surprise, Esme looked dismayed, shocked even.

“Did you hate him that much then?  I know you didn’t want to be wed, but nerves before the wedding night are normal.  I thought, the next day, I thought…”

“Esme, for reasons I can’t explain, even now, I couldn’t let him touch me that night, or even after that.  It wasn’t that I hated him – I hardly knew him!  He seemed a pleasant enough man, if a little too fond of wine.

“It was just that I couldn’t let him, you know, do things…”  Berenice finished folding the shift.  “I’m a virgin, Esme.”

“And you’ve asked the Abbot to get you an annulment.  Because you’re still a virgin.”

“Yes.”  Berenice paused, and looked up at Esme.  “He’s told me I may have to go to the nuns at St.  Bernadette’s to be examined.  Esme, would you come with me?  I know the prioress, she taught me my Latin, and we’ve discussed many a manuscript.  But this, well, this would be different.”

“Of course, child, of course I’ll come with you.  When is this to happen?”

“Not until Odo’s received word from the bishop, and that could be weeks.”  Berenice moved around the big bed to stand next to Esme.  “It means I’ll be free, Esme.  I’d be able to marry, to have children, to be like other women.”

“But you always said you never wanted any of that.  After Denis was lost, and Odo had taken his vows, you swore you’d dedicate your life to the valley, and your people.”

“I know I did, but I’ve been thinking.  Perhaps I was being selfish.  After all, what will happen when I’m gone?  Everything my father and his father built would be passed on to strangers.  Perhaps even Count Fulk.”

“Oh, God forbid!”  Esme made the sign of the cross.

“I agree.  I couldn’t leave my people to a fate such as that, could I?”

“No, no indeed!”

“Well then, I have to make provision for the future, or I’d be failing in my duty.”

“But this man you intend to marry…”

“Now I didn’t say that, did I, Esme?  I said I
could
marry, I’d be able to marry if I wanted to.”

“Well, did you have anyone in mind?”  Esme persisted.

Berenice could feel herself blushing.  “Esme!” she answered, trying to sound shocked, and failing.

“I’ve know you since you were a twinkle in your father’s eye, my Lady.  I know when you’re hiding something.”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“Odo worked out who it was, and he laughed.  Please don’t laugh, Esme!”

“I wouldn’t laugh about something as important as love!  That brother of yours, I wonder sometimes!”

“And I’m not sure, I’ve never felt…”

“That’s a good sign.”  Esme smiled.  “Tell me about these strange new feelings.”

Berenice did, her face flushed with pleasure.

“And tell me, who is this lucky man?  He must be special indeed to have stirred these feelings in you.”

“It’s Gareth, the troubadour.”

“You’re in love with the troubadour?”  Esme didn’t laugh, but her face was illuminated by the broadest of smiles.

“I feel I might be.  And I feel he might have some regard for me, as well.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Is it, Esme?  I’m so frightened, there’s so much to go wrong.  What if the bishop doesn’t give his consent? What if Gareth has no feeling for me at all?  What if,” she sank onto the bed, “my husband were to come back?”

“How about we take things as they come,” said Esme, seating herself next to Berenice, “there’s no sense in crossing bridges before we reach them, is there?”

“No,” said Berenice, smiling, “None at all.  I knew you’d be the right person to tell!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Gareth lay in his narrow bed, hearing but not listening to the whispers from the room above.

His thoughts drifted to the very productive conversation he’d had with William while they’d inspected the battlements this afternoon.  Gareth had learned there was a stonemason in Pontville who kept the old Roman bridge in good repair.  William would, with Berenice’s approval of course, send for the stonemason and his apprentice to repair the neglected stone work.

William now understood the urgency of the repairs.  Gareth had decided it was time to tell him about the events in Bordeaux two weeks ago.

***

Gareth sat in a dark corner of a tavern on the waterfront, still adapting to the world being stable under his feet.  His belongings were piled next to him, a tankard of ale was in his hand.  He wanted a bath, his hair and beard were matted with salt, and his beard needed trimming, but right now an ale was the most important thing on his mind.

Two men approached his corner.  Both were scarred, misshapen by disease and hardship, and there’d been a feral look in their eyes, an ugliness that had nothing to do with their deformities.  Without asking for an invitation, they slid onto the bench opposite.

“Just arrived, sailor?” one asked.

Gareth merely looked at them, reluctant to offer these two even a word of conversation.  In his mind, he christened them Ugly and Uglier.

“You from around here?” Uglier persisted.

“No,” answered Gareth.

“Looking for work?” Uglier asked.

“Maybe.”

“You can fight?”

“Maybe.” 

“You look like a fighting man to me.  And this,” Uglier kicked one of Gareth’s bundles, “Looks like a sword.”

“It could be.”  As a precaution, Gareth’s left hand, beneath the table, slid towards the dagger sheathed at his waist.  His right hand clutched the tankard; he would be able to throw it at Uglier while he stabbed Ugly.  He’d thought a sword would be too conspicuous; now he was wishing he’d worn it.

“Our Count’s paying well for fighting men.”

Gareth’s interest in the conversation suddenly increased. 

“Why?  Is he starting a war, then?”

The two men laughed as though he’d made a great joke.  “Let’s just say he likes plenty of insurance.  This little exercise is just a bunch of peasants at a summer fair, an old man and a few men-at-arms.”

“What’s so important?”

Uglier leaned across the table.

“There’s a Lady involved,” he leered.

Gareth felt the icy fingers of premonition caress his spine.

“Oh?” he answered, carefully non-committal.

“A rich widow, young, and beautiful they say.”

Gareth waited, wanting more information, fearing he knew the answers already.

Uglier leaned back in his seat.  “And old Fulk’s decided he needs another wife.”

Gareth downed his ale.  He’d heard all he needed to know.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” he said, gathering up his gear, “I already have an engagement.”

He’d crossed the Steppes of Russia, fighting as part of a Viking band.  In a Baltic port, a saintly English master called Godric had pitied him, and taken him on as a sailor even though he’d little seamanship.  Finally he’d come back to Aquitaine.  It had taken him eight years.

After all the years wandering, he hadn’t really known what he was going to do when he finally came back.  At least a thousand times he’d thought about returning to the valley to capture just a glimpse of Berenice.  At least a thousand times he’d dismissed the idea.  How could he see her, and not want to stay with her?

Fulk’s men had made up his mind for him.  He could do one last thing for her - he could protect her from Fulk.

She need never know who he was.

***

Now he was mulling over Berenice’s message, passed on to him that afternoon by Esme.

Berenice regretted she was forced to postpone their lessons.  Her duties at the castle would prevent her from meeting him for a while.  Esme said she’d been told to make sure he understood the Lady was only postponing, not canceling their appointment.

What was going on?  Berenice’s manner at dinner had been pleasant, but formal.  There was no sign of any disapproval.  If she’d decided she didn’t want him here, she could simply ask him to leave.

The biggest part of the mystery was the expression on Esme’s face as she relayed her Lady’s message.  She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and the words seemed almost to choke her.  Eventually, when Gareth had thought she must surely burst into tears, she’d stifled a sniff and hurried away.

Now he could hear her sobbing upstairs, and William’s whispered words of comfort.  There was nothing he could do, he decided.  It might not even be anything to do with him.

***

William stroked Esme’s back.  He’d rather a sword in his hand and enemy in front of him than a woman’s tears any day.

“There, there, pet.  You’re not making any sense.  Tell me again what’s upset you so.”

Esme took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That poor girl.  As if she hasn’t been though enough already!”

“I know, love.  She’s lost both her parents, her brother, and then her husband ups and leaves her for the Holy Land when they’re barely wed.”

Esme succumbed to another bout of tears.  William was mystified.  What had he said wrong now?

“That’s what’s wrong!  Her wedding!  All these years, I’d thought the damage had been repaired.  I never thought, I never guessed!  Oh, the poor girl,” Esme wailed, “It’s more than one person should have to bear!”

“She has us here to help her, you know that.  Now tell me.”

Esme gazed into his beloved face, its lines etched in moonlight.  How lucky she was to have a man as wise, as loving, as this one.

“You remember the Lady’s wedding,” Esme said.

“Indeed I do.  The wedding feast lasted for three days,” William answered.

“But do you remember why it was held in the spring, with the snows melting, and the roads barely passable, and not in the summer, as had been planned?”

“Ah,” said William, beginning to see where Esme was leading, “the rape.”

“Exactly,” said Esme, “The rape.  The old Lord had been negotiating with Sir Huon’s father for some time.  After Berenice was raped, the date was brought forward a few months.  Just in case there was a child.”

“Do you think Huon’s family was told about it?”

Esme snorted.  “Not likely! And ruin Berenice’s prospects of marriage?  Except to the monster who did it to her, of course.”

William swore.  “To think, I had my sword at his throat!”  His hand clenched into a fist.  “Why didn’t I finish Fulk off when I had the chance?”

“Because you would’ve started a war, my love.  Fulk’s nephew was here in those days.  He would’ve avenged his uncle’s death, and the whole valley would’ve suffered.  Sparing Fulk’s life was the right thing to do, at the time.”

“So what’s happened?  What’s changed?  This was all settled a long time ago.”

“Berenice told me today Odo is going to petition the bishop for the annulment of her marriage.”

“But how?  On what basis?”

“On the basis of her virginity!”

“What!” William almost shouted.

“Shush, my love, Gareth mustn’t hear us,” whispered Esme.

“But doesn’t she know?  How can she not know?”