The Wise Woman (55 page)

Hugo was waiting nearest the door but at Alys’s entrance everyone in the crowded gallery stopped talking and looked toward her. The old lord and David came toward her at once. Alys clasped her hands together and looked down.

“My lord,” she said. “Lord Hugo. I have some very sad news. The Lady Catherine has been brought to bed too early and she has lost the child.”

There was a buzz of conversation and comment. Hugo’s eyes burned into Alys’s face, his father was as black as thunder.

“She is able to see you,” Alys said to Hugo. She met his look with one of infinite tenderness. “I am so sorry, Hugo,” she said. “There was nothing anyone could do for Catherine. She was too sterile and sickly from the start.”

He pushed past her and went into Catherine’s room. The old lord came up and took Alys by the sleeve.

“What caused the miscarriage?” he demanded. “She came down to supper yesterday, did she overtax her strength?”

Alys leaned her mouth toward his ear. “The child would have been malformed,” she said. “It’s as well it is gone.”

The old lord looked as if he had been struck. “God, no!” he said. “No! A filthy cripple from my stock! And after all these years of waiting!”

“Can she have another?” David the steward pressed close to Alys. “In your opinion, Mistress Alys? Will Lady Catherine conceive again?”

Alys met his gaze. “I think not,” she said. “You should summon a physician perhaps to judge. But in my mind I am certain. She can conceive no normal child.”

The old lord slumped down into a chair, rested both his hands on his cane, and gazed into the distance.

“This is a bitter blow, Alys,” he said softly. “A bitter blow. Catherine’s baby gone, and her chances of another. All in one afternoon. A bitter blow.”

Catherine’s door opened again and Hugo came out. His face was set. The line between his eyebrows was deep, his mouth grim. “She’ll rest now,” he said. “Someone go and sit with her.”

Eliza and Ruth dipped a curtsy and slipped into the room.

“She said she’d see you, sir,” Hugo said to his father. “She wanted to ask your blessing.”

“Blessing be damned,” the old lord said, struggling to his feet and thumping his cane on the floor. “I’ll not see her. She’s barren, my son! And she’s wasted more years in this castle than I care to count. I’ll see her when she’s fertile. No point sitting by the sickbed of a barren woman. No point in a barren woman! Twenty-three bastards I sired, to my knowledge; and three legitimate children, one son. I’ve never looked twice at a barren woman by my knowledge, and I never will.”

He snapped his fingers for the page to open the door and stamped toward it. The people in the chamber drew back to let him pass, fearful of his rage.

“You,” he said, pointing to Alys. “Come to my room! I’ve got work to do!” Then, as Alys moved toward him, her belly thrust forward against the flowing line of the gown, he checked himself. “No,” he said. “I had forgotten. Go and rest yourself. Go and sit down and sew or sing or something. But keep yourself well, Alys.

“David! Pick her out a maid to do her fetching and her carrying for her. And see she has a comfortable chair in her room. She must rest. She must rest. She must stay well. She’s carrying Hugo’s child. And see that she has what she fancies to eat. Get her whatever she wants! Anything that she wants she must have!”

David bowed, his quick, sharp smile raking Alys. “Yes, my lord,” he said.

The old lord nodded. “Keep her safe,” he said. “No more riding out for you, Alys, you must stay home in safety.” He looked at Hugo. “Don’t let her get as fat as the other one,” he said. “That was the problem there. Keep her like you would a good brood mare, well fed but not gluttonous. She’s to sit beside me at table every night so I can see what she eats.”

Hugo nodded, unsmiling. “As you wish, sir,” he said coldly. “I am taking my horse out for a while. I am sick to my soul of these women’s doings.”

The old lord nodded. “Damn right,” he said irritably. “All that talk and all that expense and then a barren sow at the end of it.”

The two of them left the room, Hugo clattering loudly down the stairs and shouting for his horse. Slowly, the serving-women and -men and the off-duty soldiers and the pages straggled from the room, whispering as they left, whispering slander, scandal, ill-willed rumors. Alys stood in the center of the room, unmoving. As everyone went out they dipped a low curtsy or a bow to her. Alys did not smile, did not acknowledge the homage beyond a curt nod of her head. Then David and Alys were alone.

“Is there anything you would order for supper tonight, Mistress Alys?” David asked slyly.

“I will have the best,” Alys said simply. “I will have the best of whatever there is,” she said. “The very best of whatever there is.”

C
atherine woke in the night screaming and only Alys could soothe her. She was sweating from her nightmare and from a fever. Alys gave her a little of the dried berries of deadly nightshade and watched her till she fell asleep. Three times Catherine’s nightmares woke her—and all the ladies. Three times a waiting-woman came and knocked on Alys’s door and said that Lady Catherine was crying and carrying on and she must have Alys with her. The third time Alys gave her a fat pinch of sleeping powder in a cup of brandy-wine and left her on her back, snoring.

In the morning Catherine was quiet and drugged. Hugo called in at her chamber. She held out her arms to him with the tears running down her fat face.

“You must excuse me, madam,” he said coldly. “You have not been churched.”

Catherine gave a gasp of disbelief and looked at his face. He was without pity.

“Hugo!” she exclaimed. “I am so grieved…”

He stepped back toward the door, keeping himself far from her as if she had the plague.

“You are unclean,” he said precisely. “I may not touch you. Alys will assist you.”

“But I thought you did not believe in that…” Catherine wailed. Hugo bowed minimally and passed out through the door, ignoring her, ignoring Alys. Alys stepped back to let him pass and shut the door behind him with quiet satisfaction.

The old lord would not see Catherine at all, though she asked for him. He said he was too busy to come to the ladies’ gallery. When Catherine was fulfilling her duties as the lady of the castle she could see him whenever she chose. In the meantime, he had no skills in the sick-chamber and could not wait on her.

Catherine, fallen from favor with both lords, wept again, sluggish, warm tears which rolled down her face.

“They hate me because the baby died,” she whispered to Alys. “They both hate me because the baby died.”

Alys persuaded Catherine to eat some breakfast and sit up in bed and comb her hair. She did as she was told, like a lumpish child. But they could not stop her weeping. All the time, the waxy ooze dripped from between her legs, staining the sheets, and slow, oily tears rolled down her cheeks. She did not sob, she did not moan. She sat quietly and did whatever they asked of her. But she could not stop her tears.

Alys sat with her until dinner-time and then went down to the great hall, leaving Ruth and Mistress Allingham to dine with Catherine in her chamber. She entered by the tapestry-covered door at the rear of the high table. As she let the curtain fall behind her and moved to her seat on the left hand of the old lord’s chair she heard a ripple of approval from the men in the hall. Now she was the only woman carrying Hugo’s child. She was the only hope for an heir. The women in the castle might fear her and resent her, and outside, in the shadow of the castle, they might talk sourly of witchcraft and the young lord hexed into madness and lust; but a son came before everything. Anything would be forgiven the woman who gave Hugo a son.

The old lord came in, his face grave, Hugo at his side. Alys stood behind her chair until they were seated and then took her place. She did not look at Hugo. She knew he was in a rage too deep to speak. She bent her head and broke her bread. Hugo would come around.

“I shall need you to write some letters this afternoon,” the old lord said. “And you shall sit in my chamber and read to me.”

Alys inclined her head. “Gladly, my lord,” she said.

He grunted. “Not too tired are you?” he asked. “Sleep well?”

“I had to attend Lady Catherine in the night,” Alys said, her voice neutral. “She was weeping and asked for me. I was called to her three times.”

Lord Hugh waved his hand at David for the wine-server. “Drink this,” he said gruffly to Alys. “Drink deep. It’ll give the baby good blood.”

He paused. “That must stop,” he said abruptly. “Running around after the barren woman is too tiring for you. It must stop. Catherine can weep on someone else’s shoulder.

“Hugo?” Hugo raised his face from studying his hands clenched on the table before him. The old man nodded. “You see to it. Tell Catherine she may not disturb Alys. Alys can’t wait on her any longer. Alys must not get overtired.”

Hugo nodded. “As you wish, sire.”

“Aye, you’re sour,” the old lord said gently. “It’s not to be wondered at. Nine years waiting and then nothing. But I tell you what, my boy. Our wager still stands. If Alys gives you a son I’ll give you a thousand pounds. One son is as good as another when there’s no choice. You shall still have your fortune. How’s that?”

“I thank you,” Hugo said. “You are generous. But I wanted the money to finance the sailing of the ship. Alys’s child will not be born until April. My friend will have found other, more eager backers by then.”

The old lord nodded, crumbled his bread thoughtfully. “I have some ideas I’ll broach with you later, Hugo,” he said. “You may find you have the money in time. I have a plan or two still in mind.”

Hugo managed a cold, sulky smile. “You are a great schemer,” he said.

The old lord nodded. “Music!” he said sharply to David. “And send for someone to make us laugh. We are sick with melancholy over nothing. A barren woman is a disaster for no one but herself. Get me the new wine, the Flemish wine, and send to Castleton for tumblers or jugglers or a bear, for God’s sake. Even a cockfight if there’s nothing else to be had! I won’t mourn for Catherine. I have new plans! Find someone to make me laugh!”

David nodded and snapped his fingers to one of the pages. He tossed a silver coin high into the air and the lad leapt for it and snatched at it and raced from the hall, the dogs barking and snapping at his heels at the sudden excitement. Half a dozen men scrambled from the benches and fetched their instruments, started to tune them discordantly and cursed each other in their hurry. Then they started to play and the serving-wenches got up to dance, a circle dance, an old village dance. Alys, remembering the music from her childhood, watched them, her foot tapping.

“Dance with them!” the old lord said. “Take the ladies and dance with them!”

Alys flashed him a smile and beckoned to Eliza and Margery. They broached the circle and then joined in. One of the girls danced in the middle while the others circled her, then she chose a partner and they led the others around in pairs, then the second girl danced alone in the center of the circle. The girls arched their necks and tossed their heads, conscious of the watching men. They stamped their feet in time to the music and when they took the long sweeping steps around the circle they put their hands on their hips and swayed seductively. Alys, her fair hair flying, danced with one eye on Hugo. When it was her turn in the center of the circle she danced and bobbed with her head held up, her color high, and the proud curve of her belly thrust forward. When he looked at her she smiled confidently at him.

He grinned, the blackness of mood lifted from him, the crease between his eyebrows vanished. With a word to his father he jumped down from the dais and broke into the circle. When the time came for Alys to choose a partner he stepped forward and there was a little ripple of applause. Following Hugo, the other men from around the hall stepped into the circle and danced too. The circle grew too wide for the space between the tables and broke into two circles, then four. The music grew louder and more insistent, the beat of the tambour more and more compelling. Alys, in her green gown, whirled in a spell of triumphant sensuality, Hugo leaping and dancing around her. When the music stopped in a cascade of bells she fell into his arms and he swept her off her feet and up to the dais.

Catherine, in her chamber above the hall, heard the music, the laughter, the shouts of applause for Alys, and the joyful thud of dancing feet. Sitting alone in her great bed with her dinner untasted before her she listened, while the fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

The old lord had a swathe of letters for Alys to write in the afternoon. She sat at the little table in the window, in her green gown with a green French hood covering her hair, a green shawl around her shoulders.

“You are like a hayfield in springtime,” the old lord said. “I like watching you, Alys.”

She smiled at him, saying nothing.

“Now to work,” he said briskly. He sat erect in his chair, one hand outstretched leaning on his cane. Without looking at Alys he reeled off a list of the men who were to receive his letters. Alys, dipping her quill into the inkpot, wrote as fast and as clearly as she could.

She forced herself to keep writing at the rapid speed of the old lord’s speech. She forced herself to keep translating his curt, idiomatic English into classical Latin. She forced herself to keep her head down, to play the part of the loyal clerk, the doltish scribe; while Lord Hugh begged support from all of his friends currently holding high places in the king’s court for his son’s forthcoming divorce from his wife on the grounds of her being too close kin.

Six letters the old lord dictated, then he broke off.

“Father Stephen will have to write the letter to the Supreme Court,” he said. “He will know how it has to be framed, the way the rhetoric has to be done, all of that clerkish nonsense.”

“Will he do it?” Alys asked doubtfully.

Lord Hugh shot her a wicked grin. “He has no choice, my dear. He is in my hands. I have given him, free of any charge, all the benefices in my lands. He is a worldly man, an ambitious man, as well as a fervent churchman. He has hitched his star to my Hugo, they are two of a kind. Hugo’s rise will carry him upward as well. He knows the price—he is my man at the church courts.”