by Nerys Jones
Sitting straight-backed on her horse, with her riding cap closing severely around her face, Godiva looked forbidding. Bret behaved as though he felt shy in her presence, talking only to answer some question of hers and looking at the way ahead, avoiding her eye. Occasionally he laughed loudly at something she said that was only slightly funny. By the end of the first day of riding side by side, Godiva felt sorry for him, as though he were a child and could do with more confidence.
‘Bret,’ she said, as they neared the farmhouse where they would spend the night, ‘do you like being with us in Coventry?’
He mumbled assent.
‘I ask because young men always seem to leave home to make their way in the world. It must be lonely and difficult.’
Again he refused to be drawn.
‘Was it hard for you?’
‘No. My father was a thegn’s man. The thegn took me into his service as a housecarl. Later he sent me to join the housecarls at the king’s estate in Cleley, in the Forest of Salcey. That’s where I learned forestry and hunting.’
‘But didn’t you miss your family? Or have any difficulties?’
Bret slowed his horse slightly and took his time about answering. When next he spoke he seemed reluctant and embarrassed.
‘Since you ask – yes, I did have some trouble, lady. At Cleley there was a man who harassed me. Excuse me for saying this, but this man wanted to lie with me.’ He glanced at Godiva to see how she was taking this shift in the conversation. She had pursed her lips and was staring ahead. ‘Because I refused him, he told an officer that I was trying to lie with him. He told the king, who summoned me.’
‘I’m told the king hates love between men. Weren’t you afraid?’
‘No. He had the matter investigated and I was exonerated. But I had to leave Cleley because my enemy had many old friends. They were angry because he was sent away.’
‘I’m surprised he wasn’t punished more severely,’ she said, her interest sharpening.
‘The king is merciful, lady. He is a man with a deep understanding of the human heart. He wants to save souls, not crush people with punishment. If you knew him better you would admire him as much as I do.’
‘But I know for a fact that he hates love between men.’
‘He wishes to discourage it because it leads to suffering. He himself is celibate because he prefers that way of life, though it is not the choice of most men.’
‘But people do not think he is choosing celibacy for good reasons. Many say that he does not like women and prefers strange practices performed in secret.’
‘That notion is nothing but malice, put about by his enemies – Godwin and his family especially. He talked with me for a long time, and I never gained the sense that there was anything strange about him. He was sympathetic and he knows what ordinary men are like.’
‘But surely celibacy is a strange preference, is it not?’
‘The king is good, but not naive. He has made the right choice for himself, but he knows that men vary – some prefer whores, others amuse themselves alone, many want to keep a stable of mistresses. Yet others like their own sex. And some men – the majority I’d say, men like me – prefer to make love to a beautiful, well-grown woman.’
He looked across at her and noticed that she was blushing once more. He was afraid he might have been too obvious in his allusion to her, and waited to see whether she might distance herself. But if he was flirting, Godiva did not seem to realize it. Nothing in her manner changed, and the blush stayed on her cheeks, soft pink like bramble blossom.
‘But as I said,’ he continued, ‘the king thinks man-love should be renounced, where that is possible. Young boys and youths can change their affections if encouraged at the right time.’
‘Do you really think so?’
Her need for hope was transparent. Bret was almost sorry for her, though not sorry enough to change the drift of their conversation.
‘You can believe that, lady. Your Harry is in good hands. He will come back to you as the man you want him to be.’
‘What?’ Godiva took the reins of his horse and pulled him close. ‘In God’s name,’ she whispered, ‘how do you know about Harry?’
‘His friend, Edmund, was at Cleley before being sent north to Siward’s court. There were men from Cleley in Winchester – you saw me talking with them near the cathedral. One of them saw Edmund being taken to prison for a flogging. He bribed the guard to let them talk for a moment, and that is how we learned the story of Harry and Edmund. I must say, lady, Ed is a good lad and not deserving of a flogging, but the bishop must have thought Harry would feel such guilt at Edmund’s pain that he would lose all desire for him. Harsh medicine, but for good results.’
‘So everyone knows about Harry?’
She looked so sad that if he had been alone with her, he would have taken her into his arms at once. But that chance, he was becoming sure, would come again soon.
The farmhouse where they were to be quartered that night suddenly came into view in a shallow valley. In the fading light its vellum windowscreens flickered with the promise of comfort in a warm, candle-lit room beside a big fire at an open hearth. Godiva and Agatha would sleep there with the woman of the house, while Father Godric, Bret and the other horsemen would bed down in the barns. As Bret helped her dismount – with such propriety that even Agatha could find no fault with him tonight – Godiva thought how good it would be tomorrow, to ride beside him and talk with him again.
But next day she found that the captain of the guard had put a different horseman on her right. No explanation was offered and Godiva rode in complete silence until they reached a ford, where they dismounted to have some bread and cheese. She ate her rations quickly and then sent Agatha to tell the captain that Bret was to ride beside her again. She could see the man look puzzled and then gesticulate, but Agatha held her ground and argued with him. Finally he shrugged and Agatha returned.
‘Disobedient,’ she spat. ‘Won’t do as they’re told. All them horsemen think they be lords themselves. They should have my mother in charge of them. What he said, mistress, was that Bret asked him last night if he could ride at the back. Seems he has some bet on with one of the men down the line and wants to keep an eye on who is winning. So he had to go, mistress. You know how these men cheat on each other, and Bret don’t have no money and can’t afford to lose a penny.’
‘How do you know so much about him?’
But Agatha clammed up at once. She had a cousin married to a man stationed at Cleley, and word had come down from her that Bret had left the king’s estate in Salcey Forest quite suddenly and under mysterious circumstances. There were rumours – and if they were true there was no need to worry that Bret would break Godiva’s heart, or any other woman’s, either. But there were other rumours, too, of quite a different sort. Agatha was far too confused to say anything about Bret to Godiva. It was best to play dumb, but keep a sharp eye on him. In time he would show his true colours. Men always do, so Bertha said.
Back in the saddle beside Bret, Godiva turned to him and asked him about his wager. Guardedly he admitted to something vague and innocent, and Godiva, satisfied, did not pursue the subject. They were silent for a while, and then she asked the question that had been on her mind since last night.
‘Are you paid by my reeve?’
‘Yes, of course, lady.’
‘Then you are paid a pittance. And I suppose your father was not able to give you much when you left home?’
‘Nothing. There were four other boys after me, and two girls. I went to my father’s thegn with only the clothes I wore. He could not afford to arm me properly, and that’s why he sent me on, into the king’s service.’
‘When you left Cleley, did you get a good parting gift?’
‘A modest gift, lady. But I have to admit I like gambling a little too much. I left Cleley with a good bag of silver coins, but I went down to the gaming houses in Bristol and I lost most of it at once.’
&
nbsp; ‘I like to bet too, but I hate to lose. If I lose I feel I must carry on gaming to get my money back. I’ve lost bagfuls of coins that way. Thank God, no one knows – only you now.’
Bret flashed her a wide smile and laughed conspiratorially as if they had shared many adventures and secrets already. Godiva felt at once that she had thrown herself into the embrace of youth, devilry and glamour. It was hard to resist taking his hand.
‘We must talk again in Coventry,’ she said, ‘about how you could be advanced in our household. There are many ways in which a good man like you could do better than you are doing now.’
Bret expressed his thanks and then steered the conversation away from such personal matters as his poverty. He sang several songs and ran through some new riddles he had picked up from the men of Cleley, and then, as evening neared, he told her a terrifying ghost story. At the end of that second day of riding and talking, as their horses came to a halt at another farmhouse, she put her hand on his arm and whispered to him that he should consider whether he could become a scopman and entertain in the hall every night. Agatha, standing nearby to help her dis-
mount, heard every word and scowled at Bret, who immediately adopted an air of embarrassment. Agatha continued glaring after him as Bret followed the other horsemen towards the back of the farm, and its barns and dossing stalls.
Two more days of fast riding, during which Godiva could do little more than exchange pleasantries with Bret, brought them to the eastern perimeter of the lands that made up Godiva’s Coventry estate. This would be their last overnight stop before Coventry and she wanted to make the most of the chance to wash and tidy herself before being seen by the townspeople and meeting her household at Cheylesmore manor. Near the farmhouse there was a pool at which she often bathed, and since today had been another hot, humid day she thought she might swim there, even though the sun was declining behind banks of clouds. Agatha unpacked one of the travel bags and found clean clothes, soap and drying cloths, and then they headed down the path to the pool, leaving the captain with instructions that no one was to stray in that direction until they returned.
Their way led through trees and then on through tall grasses that edged the small streams that flowed slowly over flat land towards the river. They crossed over these at several points on stones that served as simple bridges, following a path that had been used since the earliest times to gain access to the crystal pool that gathered silently where a spring rose from the earth, feeding the river with fresh, clear water. There were no animals pastured here and so there were few flies, less mud and no dung. It was the only place on her estate where she felt a little of the happiness she had known on the banks of the Wye, when she had swum with Harry every sunny summer day, when he was little and all was well. She brushed away a tear and saw Agatha observing her. What should she do? Pretend she had a summer cold? Or confide in Agatha about Harry? The temptation was great, for the girl was canny and loyal, and she would hear gossip soon anyway, just as Bret had done in Winchester. Gossip flew like sickness, arriving for no apparent reason and with amazing speed, even in isolated places like Coventry. No. It would be best not to reveal anything now, for there was no telling what other troubles might lie ahead in Coventry.
‘We mustn’t stay too long,’ she said. ‘My nose and eyes are stinging.’
‘But what about your hair?’
‘Yes, I should wash it. It’s full of dust and odours from that hostelry in Winchester. If I get a cold, so be it.’
At the spot where Godiva liked to bathe there were several big, smooth stones on the riverbank where one could stand comfortably while undressing and then jump into the waist-high water without stepping on sharp pebbles and slimy weeds. Agatha helped her undress and folded the dirty clothes away in a laundry bag she had brought with her. Then she unpinned and unplaited Godiva’s masses of yellow hair, so thick with grease it uncoiled slowly like several snakes down her back.
‘Swim first,’ Godiva said, ‘and wash afterwards. You too, Agatha, you smell bad now. Come and swim with me.’
Godiva plunged into the tepid water and swam quickly to a stone that rose like a platform in the middle of the pool. The sun was warm on her shoulders and the stone had retained the heat of the day. A moment later Agatha climbed up beside her. The two women, so different in rank, age and colouring, but both beautiful and naked, looked at each other and smiled.
‘Thank you, mistress,’ Agatha said shyly.
‘For letting you swim? But you have every right, child, to be clean and comfortable. You work hard and you are sensible.’ She noticed Agatha’s budding breasts and determined little chin, growing more adult with each day. ‘Your parents will want you to marry soon. When the time comes I’ll give you some help with your dowry and trousseau.’
Agatha shook her head. ‘Thank you, mistress, but I don’t love anyone in Coventry. I did love Wulf, Odo’s son, but he been sent away to help on his uncle’s farm and I don’t see him no more. The housecarls be nasty, and the other men be married already, or there be something the matter with them.’
‘There’s Bret,’ Godiva said, and bit her tongue too late.
‘Oh no, mistress! He be a wrong ’un all right.’
Godiva’s wits came back to her and she sprang to her feet. ‘I must swim across this pool twenty times, and then we’ll wash,’ she said, and threw herself into the shimmering, still water on the other side of the stone.
Swimming back and forth, mostly under the water, and aware only of Agatha’s presence sometimes nearby, Godiva let her fears stream back behind her with her hair. Every so often soft weeds slithered through its strands, braiding her locks with green river ribbons, letting her fancy that she was a welcome guest at a feast in the underwater world and could stay there for hours. She wondered if this was how people felt when they prepared to drown. What a sweet way to leave this troubled world, with just one bubble of regret and then translucent peace. Why hang yourself like that poor tramp at Stivichall? Death should be a soft slipping away, not a violent plunge.
A shriek of anger cut across her reverie. Rising from the water, she could see Agatha standing on the stone where the clothes were, wrapped in a cloth and shaking her fist.
‘You little bastard!’ she was shouting. ‘Pig’s arse! Dirty son of a bitch! Clawecunt!’
‘Agatha!’
‘Mistress, there be a boy over there, in them trees on the other side of the river. He been watching us the whole time, I’ll warrant. I’ve a good mind to chase after him and thrash him.’
‘He’ll be gone by now. Do you know him?’
‘Of course I do. That be Tom, the tanner’s boy, come here to fish, I suppose. I heard tell before that he peeps on women. His father already give him the birch for that, but it ain’t stopped him. When he hears about him spying on you, mistress, he’ll tan that boy’s hide, good and proper. He won’t sit down for a month of Sundays, mark my words!’
‘Don’t say anything yet. I’ll see the boy and talk to him myself.’ Godiva put her hand on Agatha’s shoulder. ‘When I get home there will be many problems to solve. I know I can depend on you to help me, and to be very careful with what you say to others. I want you to stay in the manor house as my permanent maid. Gwen is too busy these days to help me much, and your mother, well . . .’
‘Oh, no one would want mother with them all day long. She’d have you in fits of tears, lady, by the end of a single day.’
‘So, are we agreed?’
Agatha nodded vigorously and kissed Godiva’s hand in thanks.
They returned to Coventry by a different route from the one on which they had ridden out, just over four weeks ago, entering through the main street and intending to pass by the town cross and the market. An outrider had gone ahead the previous night to tell everyone to turn out and greet the lady of their manor in the usual way, when she rode into town the next day.
Turn out they did, but they were not as she expected. How does hunger announce its presence? Go
diva stared at them in disbelief, trying to decipher what she saw. Does it show first in slackened skin and lacklustre eyes, or in weak posture and unkempt hair? Or should she recognize it from the odour of neglect that hung in the air like a dark halo round their bowed heads? No: its clarion call was the unbearable silence of the children, clutching passively at their mothers’ skirts, their eyes dry and their bellies swollen. She saw the shoemaker and realized he had lost two teeth in the last month. The innkeeper stood near him, and he looked angry. To the side stood the candlestick-maker’s wife, the one who always had her new baby sucking at her breast. But there was no baby in her arms now. Suddenly Godiva felt violently ashamed. She and her retinue were parading before a famished town. But then, how much worse would it be for them to see the lady of their manor in disarray, too? She was the one whose money they were counting on to feed them, now that she was back. She had better look sharp about it.
At the town cross she ordered the captain to halt, and then she waited. Within moments the town crier arrived, out of breath, but eager for duty. In minutes the marketplace was filled with people, and her heart broke at the sight of them. Why had she not been told of their plight last night? The people at the farmstead must have known what was going on in Coventry. But farmers, she knew, have never cared much for townsfolk and never will. They lived in different worlds by different rules.