by Robyn Carr
Felise thought for a moment. “Perhaps he will accustom himself to this place soon. I worry that he is not best suited to deal with the villeins. He seems to encourage their preoccupation with worries.”
“He is worried himself, lady,” Vespera said quietly. “‘Tis hard to show a bright countenance when that is not what one feels.”
“Indeed,” Felise sighed. “His choice of mood is not mine to tamper with, but whatever energy I put into this house, it is only as sound as the people of the town. If their poverty and ills and fears need tending to, we must not await Royce’s whim. His dark mood could outlast his people’s needs.”
They finished a morning meal in the hall and, judging everyone to be hard at work and needing no advice, direction, or supervision, Felise and Vespera walked from the hall to the village. Again Felise found the people to be mostly out of sight. Although it was still too cold for planting and there seemed to be no animals to tend, she wondered why all the activity in and around the hall had not induced these people to open their doors and let themselves be seen. They walked down the road, past the huts, to the end of the town where the gate stood open so that the knights, hunters, and laborers could come and go freely. Still, no one came outside to speak with them.
The house that stood closest to the wall and gate was of the best quality in the town. Here, the door opened and Colbert came outside. “Good morningtide, lady. May I give you some assist?”
Felise was relieved to see him, since all the closed doors had given her a dreary feeling. “Indeed, Master Colbert. I have come from the hall to see these people Lord Leighton will work to protect. Why do they hide from us?”
“Beg pardon, lady, but they are by nature a suspicious lot.”
“They are slow to understand that we wish them no ill. I would, in fact, look to their gravest needs. Would you help me, or must I rap on each door?”
He frowned his displeasure. “Mayhap it would be better to give them time to open their doors and--”
“Even you are slow to accept my good intentions toward this place.” She smiled at him, trying to dissolve the memory of abuse with a display of kindness. “How can I convince you, sir?”
He sighed, but his stony old face, wrinkled into a grim expression, eased but little. “I am loath to worry you with mean tales, but nearly every person here has seen one of our number either whipped or hung or beaten for the slightest offense. And in the short time since the last Leighton to rule here died, they have had other fears. They have been warned of eternal damnation simply for living here. They have long expected the return of an evil lord.”
Felise felt her hackles rising, though she tried to keep her temper. That Royce came from brutal beginnings was understood, but she was losing patience with that old excuse. He had not, in his lifetime, done anything to these people that she was aware of. To make sure, she inquired of Colbert, “Has any among these people suffered punishment by Royce? Has he taken this hall and vented his wrath on this town?”
“Nay, madam, but--”
“Then let us discover these people, Colbert. They need not hover in fear within their homes. We need their help to make this a decent place. And they need the protection and sustenance of a good master.”
He shrugged as if beaten and walked ahead of her to the next house. He rapped on the door, but there was no response. He called out to the tenant, announcing himself, and the door cautiously creaked open. A man of perhaps thirty years stood in the frame of the door and appeared already frightened. Colbert introduced him as William, and the man bowed to Felise.
“Do you have a family, William?” Felise asked pleasantly.
“Aye, there are seven here. My wife and five children.”
“Five,” she exclaimed. “A worthy number.”
“ ‘Twere six. One died last winter.”
“Illness?” she asked.
“Um, ‘twas hunger, lady,” he replied shyly.
Felise straightened as if slapped. “A child starved here, in this house?” she asked indignantly.
“Aye, lady.”
“William, are the children hungry now?” she questioned.
“There be little, lady. I farm and hunt, but I save the seed for planting and the game’s deep in the wood.”
Felise looked past William and tried to see into his small, one-room house. She saw a woman kneeling at the hearth, a child at her breast, and several small ones about the dark room. She felt a prickling anger rise at the sight of their poverty. She could think of no excuse for them to be left in this desperate condition, least of all her husband’s melancholy attitude toward this place.
“Do you have provender now that you save for the spring planting?” she asked. The man nodded lamely, reluctantly, as if he wished not to answer lest she take possession of what little he had. “Bid your wife make bread and porridge, and I will see that you have seed aplenty for the planting. And William, we must plan a larger plot for wheat and rye and some fruit trees. This town will grow over the next years and we must be ready to provide. Tonight, before the sun is set, one of Royce’s men will bring you meat. I can’t have your family thin if you’re to work for our harvest.”
William looked at her strangely and Felise felt he did not believe her.
“William, henceforth when your family hungers, come to the hall and you will be provided for. We must be as one or none of us shall thrive here.”
“The hall, lady?” he asked, somewhat shaken by her suggestion.
“I have been told it was a fearful place in years past, but you have nothing to fear from Lord Leighton. If you choose to starve rather than seek aid from your master, you do us grave dishonor. I would have you take my words close to your heart.”
He simply stared at her, and she made a silent promise to herself to have something delivered to the man’s house before midday to press her intention closer to his stomach. This condition was deplorable.
“Good morningtide, William,” she said, turning from his door.
As they began to walk the short way to the next house, Colbert’s sarcasm cut through Felise’s already-thin cover of control. “Do you mean to fatten the whole village, my lady?”
She stopped abruptly, enraged by the comment. “Will it disappoint you to learn that I will not fatten them to feed them to the wolves?” she responded, her temper flaring. “Aye, I will feed them all, if that is what is necessary to keep them alive the remainder of the year.”
“You will find their manner difficult to understand, lady. They are very slow to learn and may prefer hunger over visiting the hall. They have not had a master to trust in many years.”
“Do you conspire with these old tales to see the children starve?” she stormed.
“Nay,” he said, defending himself. “It is simply that the grief and fear here are--”
“You cling to that old misery more mightily than any,” she raged. “You, who see to the records of this town in Royce’s behalf, are as slow to aid us as any oafish mule, with your love of harsh memories. The next house, Colbert. And if you would see a better day come to this burg, you might give your allegiance to my good intention rather than defending this old foolishness.”
Her lips were pursed in anger and she waited while Colbert repeated the whole process of announcing himself before the door was opened to him. Again Felise found fear and poverty. She repeated her wish to provide, failing to grasp the cause of the anguish here. By the fourth house, again filled with thin and nervous peasants, she turned to Vespera. “The Leightons must indeed have been a vicious lot to have damaged these people to this extent. I cannot in my darkest nightmare imagine what terrible things must have happened here to yield this horror.”
They had visited over a dozen small huts when a door was opened by a thin, elderly woman who Colbert introduced as Ulna, a widow. Felise spoke to her briefly and found her manner slightly less intractable. “How long have you been widowed, Ulna?” Felise asked.
“Been on eight years, lady,” she
replied. “I have two sons still alive, one in this village, one gone.”
Felise looked past her, into her house. “Ulna, you have a loom?”
She became slightly nervous. “Aye, but there’s little enough thread.”
“But if we can find a source of wool, you can teach some of the others to weave. Ulna, how wonderful! I will see to it as soon as possible. There are many needs in the hall for cloth.” She noticed the widow’s eyes widen slightly. “I will pay you for your labors, of course.”
Ulna smiled shyly, shrugging off any remaining fear. “‘Twould be a pleasure to do your weaving, lady.”
“Tell me, Ulna, does your son provide for you? Does he hunt and give you an allotment of meat and grain from his labors?”
“He has four children, but he does what he can for me. He’s not much with farming ... never had the clever hand with crops that he’s got with wood ... but we can’t eat carvings, and he’s a good man. He tries.”
“Carving?” Felise mused. “His services could be of use in the hall--”
“In the hall, lady?”
“Ulna,” Felise nearly scolded, but a light laugh and pleasant smile accompanied her admonishment. “I thought you had greater understanding. You have no need to fear the hall; it has already grown into a pleasant place. You are welcome there and I will share with you from my own table if there is need. I will have this town at my table if that is what is required to end the misery here.”
Ulna looked questioningly at Colbert as if to ask if this were true. The bailiff might not be filled with trust, but he supported Felise as best he could. “The lady speaks true. She makes her offer of charity to every house and wills this to be a stronger town with full bellies. This bodes well for the spring, Ulna.”
The widow looked back at Felise and they exchanged smiles. For the first time that morning, Felise began to feel that there was some hope among these people. “And the master?” Ulna asked with some hesitation.
Felise nodded with assurance. “He troubles with the dark past as much as any of these people, but he is a strong and good lord. He would approve.”
Their attention was drawn to the sound of horses, and three riders came through the open gate. Colbert immediately stiffened and his sullen expression returned. Ulna lowered her gaze and quietly withdrew into her house, closing and bolting the door. Felise simply stared curiously at this visiting retinue.
The man leading the group rode a fine destrier and was gowned in rich purple robes. Behind him were two knights, their costumes and horses indicating their equal wealth, their arms glittering with a powerful shine. Felise first imagined this was a wealthy noble neighbor with two men-at-arms.
They rode straight toward the threesome in the middle of the road, and when they were upon them, the fancy lord dismounted. As he approached on foot, Felise noted the clerical garb under his mantle and she genuflected, crossing herself, as did Vespera. But the cleric did not bless her.
“I have not seen you here before,” he said suspiciously. “Where have you come from?”
Colbert opened his mouth, but Felise instantly, from some buried instinct, cut him off with her words. “I am lately from London, Father.” She touched Colbert’s arm and indicated she would speak for herself.
“You may address me as ‘lord’ or ‘monseigneur,’ wench. Why are you here?”
“I have lately acquired this hall, monseigneur,” she said coyly.
The man laughed loudly, a cruel sound that rang through the streets. Felise turned and looked at Vespera, finding the woman frowning blackly at the priest. “You will find it a hateful place. I trust you will not be here long.”
“I plan to be here a very long time,” she said evenly. “Why are you here? Do you bring the faith to these people?”
He laughed again and the knights still on horseback joined him. “I am Monseigneur Trothmore of Coventry. I bring the faith and collect the tithe.”
“There is no tithe here,” she said.
“The church demands a portion for the promise of deliverance,” he ordered coolly.
“There is no tithe, Father,” she said, pointedly refusing to use the title he demanded. “These poor people starve for want of a meal and have nothing to share with the church.”
“On whose authority do you reject the prayers of one ordained by God?” he blustered, his cheeks growing pink with rage.
“On my own,” she quietly replied. One of her many questions had been quickly answered by the presence of this man. Her experience with villages had been modest, but there were some things common to all English hamlets. Her father had once reckoned with an evil priest at Twyford, risking the threat of excommunication by driving away an ambitious cleric who would bleed the people of what little they had by selling blessings. “By the look of your rich robes, Father, you do not give the full portion of the tithe to the church and could find a way to take less.”
She turned to Colbert. “Fetch my husband or any Scelfton knight, Colbert. And instruct him to bring arms.”
“You would raise arms to an emissary of God?” Colbert questioned nervously.
She began to understand the collective fear. There was a good possibility that Royce did not know the poverty of this town could be attributed largely to the selfishness of this one man.
“Go quickly, Colbert. Do as I say.”
“Hold your pace,” the priest demanded hotly. “You, wench, would do well to ask these people their preference. They may not choose your civic guard, which would earn them an eternal hell.”
“This is hell. Don’t you recognize your own creation?”
“You court danger, woman,” he warned. “If the church abandons you, there will be little to rule here.”
“Go quickly, Colbert, lest this humble disciple do worse than threaten to have his gold.” Colbert turned, somewhat reluctantly at first, but finally moving at a brisk pace. Vespera leaned near and whispered in her ear. “Take care, lady. The man wears the cleric robes, but his manner gives the lie to his friendship with God.” Felise nodded gravely, more than aware of the danger in this action she took.
“You would do well to ask these wretches if they want Satan’s rule here, or if they are better parted with a hen or a pig to buy heaven for their dead,” he boldly challenged.
The sound of a door opening caught the attention of all present in the street. Ulna stood in the doorway of her hut and looked at the priest, her eyes holding the daggers of a suddenly dawning truth. The priest turned to the widow. “Tell this mistress of yours that you would prefer to part with a bolt of cloth than to suffer eternal fire,” he demanded.
Ulna held her grim expression and Felise waited patiently. “My lady speaks true,” Ulna finally said. “The hell of this village is made of your greed ... and she will pay me that I may eat, while you would take my last piece of bread.” She paused and looked to Felise for support, the latter smiling proudly, and added, “There is no tithe here, nor can I buy another prayer for my dead husband.”
“There will be a curse on this town,” the cleric threatened. “And unless you reverse this blasphemy, I will petition for your excommunication.”
“The curse has long since died from this town, Friar,” Felise said, indicating by the title she used that he was not even a priest in her eyes. “And when you petition, be certain to address King Henry, for it is by his order that I reside in Segeland. He shall be most interested in the power you have attained here.”
The priest blustered and stuttered, laying many curses to her and finally settling on one. “You wear the witch’s locks of Satan in that red hair, and ‘tis clear to any who would look that you are the heathen disguised, bringing eternal doom to this poor lot.”
Felise laughed wickedly. “Good sir, do you mean to say that the color of my hair brings more evil than your claim to their very bread? By the Virgin, you must think them all fools.”
She heard the opening of another door, then another. She did not turn to see who watched them,
and her mounting rage would not allow her silence. “I have offered them food from my table, and you come to take away portions of their humble provender. They bury their children in want, and you, wearing your rich gown, come to claim whatever they have, leaving them to die in fear and shame. Be gone from here and let not your shadow darken my gate again. God in His power is merciful and wishes no man to starve his family to attain a blessing.”
The priest grew taller in his anger and his cheeks were aflame with barely concealed hatred. He turned to his knights. “Smite her where she stands. She defies God and my obligation.”
Felise gasped as the horsed men drew their swords from the sheaths at their belts. For an instant she believed they would dare to kill for a piglet or a bag of grain. She willed herself courage. “So, ‘tis not enough to frighten these poor into submission, you will kill to get your due? I see,” she shouted, loudly enough to open every door along the street. “You hereby prove your close acquaintance with the devil, though I did not know until today that Lucifer would sink so low as to disguise himself in the robes of a priest.”
The knights froze and the priest stood his ground, but not without a hint of panic in his voice. “Strike her down. Strike down the bitch.”
Just then the sound of a horse pounding down the road could be heard. Felise did not dare turn to look, but instead watched the priest’s knights closely lest she be forced to dive away from a broadsword. She noticed the priest looked past her to judge the approaching steed, his eyes widening. Maelwine was beside her in moments, staying astride and ready to fight.
“Felise?” he questioned.
“Sir Maelwine, you look on the reason for the hunger in this burg. This rich priest comes here to sell blessings and extract a tithe from these starving people. I have ordered him to leave, and he has threatened my life.”
More horses were approaching and a slow and victorious smile spread across Felise’s lips. Her hatred of this man and what he had done with his power bit her so deeply she almost wished to see his blood wet the earth.
“From whence do you come?” Maelwine demanded, his voice ringing above the sound of the approaching horses.