The Wise Woman

by Philippa Gregory

  Mutely Alys stared up at him, her hands in her lap, palms uppermost. 'And thirdly,' he said loudly. 'If it is a son, and hale and hearty, Hugo does not marry you, you little fool. We make the son legitimate! I adopt him as my heir. We want the child, we don't want you! We never wanted you except for clerking and Hugo's pleasure!' Alys was white-faced, her hands were shaking. 'What made you think you could snare me, you little slut? Have you forgotten who I am? You seem to have forgotten your own base blood as soon as you had colours on your back. But me? Have you forgotten who I am? I am the lord of all the land around me for hundreds of miles! My family was planted here by William the Norman King himself, and I have fought and schemed for every acre under my foot. You might forget yourself – God knows you're not memorable! But me? Have you forgotten my family? Have you forgotten my power? Have you forgotten my pride? Have you forgotten who I am?'

  Alys rose unsteadily to her feet. 'I am unwell,' she said. She could feel her face trembling. It was hard to form the words. 'I will leave you, my lord,' she said.

  'Sit down, sit down,' Lord Hugh said impatiently, his anger blown away in a moment. He thrust her into the chair and stamped over to the table and poured her a glass of wine. Alys took it and sipped. He watched the colour creep back into her cheeks.

  'I warned you,' he said gently. 'I warned you not to try to overleap the boundaries, God's own boundaries, between the noble and the rest.'

  The wine was steadying Alys. 'Hugo loves me,' she insisted softly.

  The old lord shook his head. 'Alys, don't talk like a fool!' he begged. 'You please Hugo. You are a pretty woman, desirable and hot. Any man would want you. If I were not frail and old, I'd have you myself. But don't think these things are decided on whim, on pleasure in a face, or a night's lust. Not even the King himself consults his appetites in this. It's a political decision, always political. Hunting for heirs, hunting for new alliances. Making power, consolidating power. Women are just pawns in this game. Hugo knows as well as I that the next marriage has to be done well, to our advantage. We need a connection with a rising family of the southeast – someone close to the King. Hugo is right – the King is more and more the source of power, of wealth. We need a family high in favour at court.'

  Alys put down the glass. 'And do you have one in mind?' she asked bitterly.

  'I have three!' the old lord said triumphantly. 'The de Bercy family, they have a wench of twelve they would let us have, the Beause family – they have a girl too young, only nine – but if she is big and forward for her age she might do. And the Mumsett family – they have a girl on their hands whose marriage contract has collapsed. She's twenty. The right age for Hugo. I need to know why her engagement failed, but she might do.'

  The wine was spreading through Alys' body like despair. 'I did not know,' she said dully. 'You never spoke of these to me. You never wrote to them. You never received letters from them. I did not know. How have you made these arrangements? I never wrote for you.'

  Lord Hugh chuckled. 'Did you think you saw all my letters?' he asked. 'Did you not think that David writes for me, in Latin, aye, in English and Italian, or French too? Did you not think that Hugo writes for me sometimes? Did you not think that when it is deep, deep secret then I write for myself and send it out by a bird, releasing the bird with my own hands so that no one knows but me and a clever, secretive bird?'

  Alys shook her head. 'I thought you trusted me alone,' she said. 'I thought I was close to your heart.'

  The old lord looked at her with compassion. 'And they call you a wise woman!' he said with gentle mockery. 'You are a fool, Alys.'

  She bowed her head.

  'What will become of me?' she asked.

  'I'll keep you as my clerk,' the old lord offered. 'There will always be a place for you in my hall. You will nurse your child for the first two years. I will not take him away from you before then. When he has tried his first steps I shall take him for my own and you can please yourself.'

  ‘I can stay here?' Alys asked.

  'As his nurse, if you watch your tongue. As long as Hugo's new wife does not object. She will have the rearing of your son. He will be brought up as her child.'

  'She gets Hugo and the castle and my son,' Alys said numbly. 'This girl you do not even know. She gets Hugo and the castle and my son and I get nothing.'

  Lord Hugh nodded. ‘I could send you to France to a nunnery when the baby is taken from you,' he offered. 'I'll give you a dowry and the name of a dead man. You could go back to the nunnery as a widow. I will do that for you.'

  'I have lost my faith,' Alys said with weary dignity. 'Step by step in this castle I have fallen into sin and lost what little faith I ever had. The life I have led here would have robbed the faith of a saint.'

  The old lord laughed shortly. 'Forgive me,' he said. ‘I am just a layman, I cannot dispute these things. But surely the life you lived here would have proved a saint. This should have been a good test for a little fledgling saint.' Alys bowed her head under his mockery. 'Well then, you have your final haven,' he said, a ripple of laughter in the back of his voice. Alys looked at him dumbly.

  'Catherine and the manor-house!' he said, his laughter spilling out. 'And the rest of your nights with Catherine's fat body bouncing up and down on you and poking in her fingers where you want a cock!'

  He exploded into laughter, unstoppable, genuine guffaws, ignoring Alys sitting frozen at the table. Then he broke off and mopped his eyes. 'What a haven, my little one!' he said. 'But you could do worse. You were born for a meaner estate than that, after all. It's a triumph for you, in its way. I'll settle some land on you as I promised, and Catherine shall have a fine enough manor. It is better than nothing, Alys; and you were born to nothing.'

  Alys sat in silence, her eyes on the table, her cold hands clasped across her belly.

  'Now to work,' Lord Hugh said briskly. 'We're holding a sheriff's court this afternoon in the great hall. I want to see the cases which are coming up before me. And these letters have come from the King's council. An armful of new instructions – pursuit of heretics, witchcraft, papists. Treatment of paupers, upkeep of roads, bridges. Numbers of big horses each tenant must keep, numbers of sheep on lands. Training of young men as archers, banning of the crossbow. Control of enclosures, Lord knows what else.' He dumped an armful of papers before Alys on the table. 'Sort them into two piles,' he said. 'The ones that require an answer at once, that we have to deal with today. And those that can wait. I'll read the cases which will come before me this afternoon.'

  Alys bent her head over the papers, smoothed out their creases, stacked them on one pile or another. She was not plotting, nor scheming how to turn the plans for the marriage to her advantage. She felt as if she had lost her ability to turn anything to advantage. She was up against the power and authority of men. There was no chance of anything but defeat.

  Thirty

  Alys worked until dinner. Lord Hugh trusted her to draft his replies to routine letters and then read them back to him for his scrawled signature and the stamp of his seal. However, some things he kept to himself. There were letters from London which came in a packet of linen with the seams stitched and sealed. He cut it open, sitting in his chair by the fireside, and burned each of the secret pages after he had read it.

  At noon David came to the chamber. 'Dinner is ready, my lord,' he said.

  Lord Hugh started up from his thoughts and stretched his arm out to Alys. 'Come away, Alys,' he said kindly. 'Come down to dinner with me. This is weary work for you, are you sure you are not too tired?'

  Alys rose from the table and followed him from the room. She saw David's acute glance at the whiteness of her face and the slope of her shoulders.

  'Does it fare merrily with you, Alys?' he asked. 'Merrily, merrily?'

  She looked at him without bothering to conceal her dislike. 'I thank you for your wishes,' she said. 'I hope they come back to you threefold.'

  The dwarf scowled. He clenched his hand into the fist w
ith thumb between second and third fingers, the old protection against witchcraft, crossed himself with the fist, and kissed his thumb.

  Alys laughed in his glowering face. 'Mind Father Stephen does not see you,' she said. 'He would accuse you of popish practices!'

  The dwarf muttered something behind her as Alys, with her head high, followed the old lord down the stairs and into the great hall.

  Hugo and Stephen were placed either side of Lord Hugh, Stephen on his right in honour of his return to the castle and to mark the old lord's favour. And the power of the new Church, Alys thought sourly. Alys was seated on the other side of Stephen.

  She said nothing while the servers brought the silver ewers and bowls and Lord Hugh and then all of them washed their hands and dried them on the napkins. David watched over the pouring of the wine and then the pottage was served.

  'Are you well, Mistress Alys?' Stephen asked her courteously.

  'I thank you, yes,' Alys replied. 'A little weary. My lord has made me work hard this morning. He had to reply to the King's letters and we have the sheriff's court here this afternoon.'

  'Hugo and I have added to the burdens of the court,' Stephen said. 'We took up a witch today.'

  The tables nearest to the high table fell silent, the diners strained forward to listen. Most people crossed themselves. Alys felt her throat tighten.

  'My lord!' she exclaimed. She glanced down the table at Hugo. 'God keep you both safe and well!'

  'That is my prayer,' Stephen said. 'And it is my duty to preserve myself and my bishop's diocese from these evil creatures.' He glanced around him and raised his voice so that they could all hear him. 'There is no defence against witchcraft except fasting, penitence and prayer,' he said. 'No subscribing to another witch to protect you. That way you fall deeper and deeper into the hands of the one who is their master, who stalks this earth seeking for souls. The True Church of England will protect you by seeking out all witches and destroying them, root and branch, even down to the smallest, least twig.' There was silence. Stephen was impressive. 'Yes,' Alys said. 'We must all be glad of your vigilance.'

  He turned his head to her. 'I have not forgotten the injustice of your ordeal,' he said softly so that no one else could hear. 'I carry it with me in my heart, to remind me to avoid popish practices like the ordeal and to keep my own conscience in these matters. I never use the ordeal in my work. I question – question with sight of the rack, and then with torture only where necessary – but I never test a witch with an ordeal any more. I made a mistake that day in giving way to Lord Hugh and Lady Catherine. I have never made that mistake again.'

  'But you torture?' Alys asked. Her voice trembled slightly. She sipped her wine.

  'Only as it is ordered, for those suspected of felonies,' Stephen replied gently. 'The law is strict in this matter. First comes questioning, then showing the rack to the prisoner and questioning again, and then, and only then, is questioning under torture allowed. When I know I am doing God's work in this godless world, and obeying the law in this lawless world, I can do my duty without anger or malice; or fear that I am doing wrong through my own blindness.'

  Alys stretched her hand to her wine again. She saw it was shaking. She hid both her hands in her lap, out of sight under the damask tablecloth.

  'And who is this witch you took up today?' she asked.

  'The old woman you accused,' Stephen said. 'The old woman who lives by the river on the moor. We were riding out that way hunting and we met with the soldiers who were taking her over the border to Westmorland -as you desired.'

  'There must be some mistake,' Alys said breathlessly. 'I never accused her of being a witch. She frightened me. She came on me alone in the wood. She called me by another name. But she was a harmless old woman. No witch.' Alys could hardly speak over the noise of her pulse in her head. She had no breath for anything more than short sentences.

  Stephen shook his head. 'When we stopped to see that they handled her gently – soldiers like a game, you know – she asked who we were and when we told her Hugo's name, she cursed him.' 'She would not!' Alys exclaimed. Stephen nodded. 'She named him as the destroyer of the nunnery and of the holy places. She said that he would die without an heir because he had done blasphemy and sacrilege and that the vengeance of her god was upon him. She called on him to repent before more women voided the devil's slime, which is all that he can father. And she begged him to release a woman named Ann. That was the last thing she said – let her go!'

  'This is awful,' Alys said. 'But just the ravings of a mad woman.'

  Stephen shook his head. ‘I have been appointed by my bishop to search out these witches,' he said. 'There is one in every village, there are dozens in every town. We must root them out. People are frail, they run to these wizards in times of trouble instead of fasting and praying. The devil is everywhere and these are troubled times. We have to fight against the devil, we have to fight against witches.'

  Alys gave a trembling little laugh. 'You are frightening me!' she protested.

  Stephen broke off. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'I did not mean to. I am hot in the pursuit of evil, I forgot your condition and the delicacy of your sex.'

  There was a little pause.

  'And this mad old woman,' Alys said lightly. 'Won't you let her go? I should be sorry if my complaint against her brought her to this charge.'

  Stephen shook his head. 'You misunderstand the seriousness of her crime,' he said. 'When she speaks of her god it is clear she is speaking of the devil, for we know that the Holy God does not curse men. He sends misfortune to try them, for love of them. When she speaks of Hugo as a destroyer of the popish false church, it is the devil crying out against our glorious crusade. We are snatching souls from the devil every day. He enjoyed an easy time with the Romish priests feeding people with lies and fears and superstitions and magic of all kinds. Now we are pushing the light of God across the country and casting the devil – and his followers like this old woman – into the fiery furnace.'

  The brightness of the sunlight through the high east windows dazzled Alys, the room was spinning around her as Stephen spoke. 'Oh don't!' she said, in sudden agony. 'Stephen, remember how it was for me when you gave me the ordeal. Remember my terror! Spare this poor old woman and send her away, send her to Scotland! Send her to France! Spare the foolish old thing. She did not know what she was saying, she is mad. I saw it when I met her. She is mad.'

  'Then how did she know of Catherine's illness, if not through sorcery?' Stephen asked. 'It has been kept most quiet. Only you and Catherine's ladies and Hugo knew of it. Not even my Lord Hugh knew of her scouring white slime.'

  'These things are talked of,' Alys said rapidly. 'Gossip is everywhere. She is probably one of those horrible old women who sit in the chimney seat and chatter all day. I sent her a gown and some food, she probably gossiped with the messenger. Don't burn her for being a foolish, ugly, old woman, Stephen!'

  'We won't burn her,' Stephen said.

  Alys looked up into his pale, determined face. 'You won't?' she asked. 'I thought you said you would cast her into the fire.'

  'I meant that when she dies she must face the flames of hell, the fire of the afterlife,' Stephen said.

  'Oh,' Alys said. 'I misunderstood you.' She breathed out on a little laugh. 'I am so relieved,' she said. She put her hand to her throat and felt her hammering pulse quieten beneath her touch. 'You won't burn her,' Alys said again. 'You won't burn her.' She laughed uneasily. 'Here I was, trembling with fear that I had brought an old lady to the stake!' she said. 'I was fearful for her. But you won't burn her, even if she should be charged. Even if she were found guilty. You won't have her burned.' 'No,' Stephen replied. 'We hang witches.'

  When Alys came to her senses she was lying in her bed, the dark green tester she so loved above her, the curtains half drawn around her to shade her face from the bright sunlight pouring in the arrow-slit window. For a moment she could not remember the time, nor the day. She smiled like a child at t
he richness of the fabric all around her, and stretched. Then she heard the soft crackle of a fire in her grate, and was aware of the warmth of the setting sun on her whitewashed walls. Then she remembered the quiet terror of Stephen's promise, and Mother Hildebrande facing a charge of witchcraft that afternoon, and she cried out and sat upright in bed.

  Mary was at her side. 'My lady,' she said anxiously. 'My lady.'

  'What time is it?' Alys asked urgently. 'I don't know,' Mary said, surprised. 'About five o'clock, I suppose. The people are just leaving from the trials. It is not suppertime.'

  'The trials are over?' Alys asked.

  Mary nodded. 'Yes, my lady.' She looked anxiously at Alys. 'Will you tell me what I can fetch you?' she asked. 'Should you not have something from your chest of herbs? You are very pale, my lady. You fainted at dinner and they carried you up here like a dead woman. You have lain still all this long time. The old lord himself came up to see you. Have you nothing I may fetch you?'

  'What happened at the trials?' Alys asked.

  Mary frowned. 'I have been up here with you,' she said, with a trace of resentment. 'So I couldn't see nor hear them. But Mistress Herring told me that they branded one man for thieving and Farmer Silter was warned for moving his boundary posts. Peter Marwick's son was summoned -'

  'Not them,' Alys interrupted. 'The old woman charged with witchcraft.'

  'They didn't try her,' Mary said. 'They questioned her under torture and she is not a witch. They released her from the charge of witchcraft.'

  Alys felt a sense of ease flow through her whole body, from her aching jaw, through her clenched fists, to the soles of her feet. Her skin glowed as if she had just stepped, tinglingly clean, from a bath. She felt the blood rise up in her veins and warm her clammy skin.

  'They released her,' she said, tasting hope, as sweet as new desire.

  They changed the charge,' Mary said. 'She is to face a charge of heresy. She will be tried tomorrow in a second day of the court's sessions.'