by Nerys Jones
Her town was disgusting. The face of Tom, the tanner’s son, flashed into her mind, leering as he pulled away frantically at his adolescent parts. Why was she going through this agony to save these people’s skins? For a moment it seemed that the horse’s lurching would make her throw up, as though she were seasick. She whispered to him to stop. God help me, she prayed. Keep my mind strong. Don’t let me go mad today. Keep the Devil away. Agatha came alongside and asked if she could help. Godiva shook her head.
Just then, from the house of the candlestick-maker, a two-year-old-boy, naked and unsteady on his feet, came running out, shouting, ‘Horsey, horsey’ and making straight for Agatha’s mount. His mother came after him at once, swooped down and carried him off, not once raising her eyes to behold the penitential procession that was passing her house. Godiva remembered giving the woman flour in the market square, and how grateful she had been, saying that now she could feed her son and save his life. She had felt so proud then, and everything had seemed worthwhile – all the effort, all the sacrifice, and the way they had all pulled together. She prayed for help to keep these good thoughts in her mind.
As they entered the silent market place the tolling of the priory bell seemed unnaturally loud. Godiva wondered where all the people had gone. Had they stayed away for her sake? She gazed at the edges of the square, looking for possible spectators, and it was then that she saw them – about a dozen men, fully armed and ringing the square, their heads down and their hands on the hilts of drawn swords, held vertically with their tips stuck into the earth. Edward had sent a guard. Judging by their white tunics with red crosses, they were from Egg Ring. They would not look at her and they would prevent anyone else from looking, and yet their presence, fully clad and with naked weapons, made her feel more exposed than ever.
They came to a halt. Sister Mary and the novices stepped back towards the town cross, while Godiva and Agatha guided their horses towards the priory’s entrance. The nun, disconcerted by the unexpected presence of armed men, shook her handbell as vigorously as possible. The bell ringer inside the tower held his rope still and total silence fell upon the square.
‘In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,’ the nun shouted in the voice of a far bigger woman. ‘I call upon all who can hear me to bear silent witness that there will now take place the penance of the Lady Godiva for diverse sins known to her conscience, to the king, and to the Lord God Almighty. Amen.’
Charity and Mercy said amen too. Godiva crossed herself, and Agatha, who was wondering who might be inside the priory today, scowled at its tower, her gaze stripping it bare with cold, disenchanted eyes.
‘I confess,’ Godiva began quietly, then raised her voice, ‘to all the crimes against God of which the king has justly accused me. I have been proud. I have consorted with demons. I have committed sins of the flesh. I offer my nakedness as the sacrifice for the redemption of my soul, and the redemption of my people from the payment of heregeld. And,’ she added, ‘to confirm that my repentance is true, I will do that which I have not been asked to do.’
She told Agatha to pass her the bag that hung round the horse’s neck, and from this she pulled out a pair of shearing scissors. Then she gathered her hair together at one side of her neck and slowly, laboriously, hacked through the thick bunch of loose hair.
‘This is for my vanity,’ she said, and threw the great hank of long hair towards the door of the priory.
It fell on the slate paving stones that lined the small forecourt, the gold and grey threads of her head vivid against the cold blue slabs, and scattering in the light morning breeze like an unbound sheaf of wheat left in a field after harvest.
‘And this too,’ she said, taking off the rosary and throwing it on to the severed hair. ‘May these jewels rest around the neck of the statue of the Virgin in this priory and bring blessings to those who pray to her.’
Behind her back Sister Mary watched Godiva’s act of contrition with admiration, but also with dismay at St Mary’s enrichment. Agatha, observing the nun’s covetous eyes, decided that this was the time to cover Godiva. She flung the cloak in a broad circle and brought it down exactly where she wanted it, covering Godiva’s shoulders and completely concealing her breasts, her back and most of her legs.
‘There’s even more, sirs,’ Agatha said, addressing the tower of the priory in her best English. ‘Whoever you are, and from wherever you are watching. Look what I have for you.’
From out of her clothing she pulled the pouch that Brett had given her and took out one of the silver coins.
‘This is the Judas money paid to Beorhtric of Nottingham in Egg Ring. Here is one for the Holy Virgin, in thanks for my mistress’s kindness to me.’
She threw the coin at the heap of hair and precious stones.
‘And here is another for her protection of this town from famine. And a third for enriching this priory. And a fourth for burying our dead. And a fifth for feeding the lepers.’
‘Stop it, Agatha,’ Godiva said. ‘You need this money.’
‘Ite. Finit est,’ said Sister Mary briskly. ‘Let us go. It is over.’
‘It is not,’ said Agatha. ‘Here’s all the rest. Fifteen more pieces of silver as payment for prayers by the monks of this priory, every day for evermore, for the good health of the Lady Godiva, and long life to Lord Lovric.’
The coins flew through the air in a glittering arc and scattered all over the forecourt where, in a little while, the monks would be scrambling for them.
Godiva and the nuns now began to arrange themselves to leave the square in the same order as they entered, but Agatha remained where she was, her horse motionless beneath her. She stared up at the tower, at the place where the shutters of a window were slightly ajar, and listened. But there was no movement and no sound, just a deep sigh which she took to be the wind rising. Then, as she was about to go, she saw it: a slight movement of the shutter, and behind it the outline of a jewelled hand. Bastard, she said under her breath, and then she too decided the penance was over and it was time to go back to Cheylesmore manor.
It seemed like a long time until the little group, all now on foot and exhausted, reached the entrance to the manor’s yard. The bell of the priory was tolling again in the background, signalling that people were to remain indoors until Godiva could reach home in privacy.
That was the plan. But there, standing in the middle of the manor’s entrance, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side, stood Milly. Godiva and Agatha stopped as soon as they saw her, but Sister Mary, who had met and managed a lot of angry young women in her time, marched straight towards Milly, with Charity and Mercy following obediently behind.
‘Out of the way, young lady. Orders are orders. Stay indoors until the bell stops. Go now.’
‘Go to hell!’ Milly snarled, not moving an inch other than to raise a malevolent eyebrow in her mother’s direction.
Sister Mary backed down. ‘Godiva,’ she called out. ‘You must see to your daughter.’
‘Godiva,’ repeated Milly, mimicking the nun’s crisp tone. ‘Do as you are told.’
Godiva sighed deeply and walked towards Milly.
‘What is it, Milly?’
‘You know perfectly well, mother.’
‘I understand. This penance has mortified our whole family. That was the point. The king . . .’
‘Oh, shut up, mother. I know all about that. I know you’re going to say you made a great sacrifice for a good cause, and you’re sorry if I’m embarrassed.’
‘Yes, I was. But why are you enraged, and insolent? I did what I had to do. It should not concern you so much.’
‘Mother! I can’t marry Peter now – not until people have forgotten about what you did today.’
‘They will get over it, in time . . .’
‘Time? I don’t have time! Look at me,’ Milly shouted.
Godiva looked her up and down wearily, but saw nothing different about Milly and her angry face and clenched fists. Agatha, however,
observing her carefully, noticed that her hair was shining and her skin glowing, her cheeks were full and her dark eyes rich with colour. If she wasn’t twisted with anger, she would have looked beautiful for the first time in her life.
‘She be expecting, mistress,’ Agatha whispered.
‘That’s right,’ Milly snapped. ‘You could come with me, Agatha, when I go to the convent at Wilton – for the delivery of my bastard child.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Agatha swiftly.
‘No, Milly,’ Godiva said. ‘Don’t go away, child. Stay here and let me take care of you. This is not the end of the world. I’ll talk to Peter Mallet’s mother.’
‘She won’t talk to you. Not after the show you’ve made of yourself today. I saw Peter last night and he said his mother’s maid was at St Mary’s on Sunday and heard Prior Edwin talk about your penance. And do you know what Agnes Mallet called you when she heard what you were going to do? “A holy whore”, that was one thing. “God’s harlot” another. And then, what she said most often, “dirty Edward’s fool”. She says you were deceived into making a disgrace of yourself for Edward’s pleasure, and that what you did was not a proper penance at all, but a bad joke, for which the king is famous. She laughed at you . . .’
‘That’s enough,’ said Sister Mary, beginning to finger her whip. But Godiva, who had turned a deathly white, took hold of the nun’s hand and forced it down.
‘Let Milly finish what she has to say.’
‘Agnes Mallet says Edward probably watched the whole thing from somewhere. If she could deduce that, why couldn’t you? She says you are stupid and that no son of hers should have a stupid woman’s grandchild.’
‘Does Peter agree?’
‘No. He still wants to marry me. But he can’t have his portion to marry unless his mother agrees.’ Milly sighed and hung her head. Suddenly she looked vulnerable and young.
‘Oh, Milly, why didn’t you tell me there was a baby on the way?’ Godiva asked, struggling with tears.
Milly seemed about to say something, then gave up in despair.
‘I’ll send gold to Wilton,’ Godiva said. ‘And make sure you and the child are well cared for. I’ll explain to the abbess that your marriage was unexpectedly postponed.’
Milly nodded and turned away.
‘Goodbye, daughter,’ Godiva said. ‘I will pray each day for your safe delivery.’
There was no answer. Milly disappeared to the far side of the yard. Godiva stared after her, wondering once more why their paths had diverged so bitterly and inexplicably, so many years ago.
And yet, for all her regrets, there was no doubt that Milly’s going would remove a small black thundercloud that had threatened everyone’s peace for many weeks. Godiva stepped over her threshold into the dark of her own home and, standing still, let its familiarity and tranquillity envelop her and bind her wounds.
‘Mistress,’ Agatha said from behind her. ‘A day in bed be a good idea now.’
‘My idea precisely,’ said Sister Mary. ‘You can go now, Agatha.’
‘No, she stays,’ said Godiva. ‘I am no longer a penitent. I am the lady of this manor, and I want Agatha at my side.’
The nun nodded curtly and went to another room to pray.
Lying in her bed, Godiva could hear in the distance the priory bell stop tolling. In the yard of the manor, people were stirring. A horse neighed as it came out of the stables and, for the first time in days, someone shouted as a cart trundled out of a shed towards the entrance. From further away the lowing of cows could be heard as they left the dairy and took the path to the pastures. Thank God for the routines of work, the backbone of life. She would get back to work soon, too. She would start with making an account of how much grain they had in store, and how much money she had left. Then she would find out if anyone was going hungry. Perhaps the famine was fading away as new crops came in. Perhaps the weather was improving; it was still rainy, but the air seemed cooler. Dry, fine weather might follow, with sunshine. Perhaps their luck would start to change. She felt much better than she had expected. She would cancel her plans to go to Evesham, for she no longer saw any need for special arrangements to recuperate from the penance. She would tell the nuns tomorrow that they could pack their wagons and leave. That was her last thought as she faded into the oblivion of a day and a night of healing sleep.
It was in the night, though, in the blackest hour just before dawn, that the fever struck. Godiva sat up and called out to Agatha that she felt dizzy and ill. Agatha felt her forehead and immediately pulled back the cover of the bed. Godiva’s nightgown and the bed sheets were drenched in sweat, and there was vomit on the side of the bed. Agatha screamed and all three nuns ran to her aid.
‘There’s no connection,’ Sister Mary said at once. ‘The fever and the vomiting are separate things. When did she last eat?’
‘She woke up and had some bread and milk just after sunset.’
‘Well, it was probably bad and upset her stomach. She’ll get over that quickly. The fever is what I need to treat.’
Agatha burst into tears.
‘Now, now! Pull yourself together,’ said Sister Mary. ‘It is not uncommon for penitents to be sick for a few days after doing penance. It will do her no harm.’
Agatha looked dubious and said she was going to get the nurse.
‘No,’ said Godiva, shivering violently. ‘Don’t bring her here. She carries sickness on her skin and clothing. Just get clean clothes for me and boil some feverfew leaves.’
Agatha set about removing the soiled linen, while the two novices went to the kitchen to heat water.
‘I had a dream,’ Godiva said a few minutes later as she sipped the feverfew brew. ‘I was on a white horse like Starlight, and I was pursued by a laughing demon that caught me and pulled me to the ground and started to eat me alive. I was bleeding and then I woke up in pain.’
‘Oh, my God! What did he look like?’ asked Sister Mary.
‘Not “he”. It was a woman, with blood on her lips and teeth,’ said Godiva, shivering violently. ‘She had horns on her head, but her face was pretty and she wore long earrings. I think I’ve seen her before.’
Abruptly Sister Mary’s sensible demeanour dissolved in noisy panic.
‘That was a vampire!’ she shrieked. ‘That vomit was not due to bad food. A vampire has been at your stomach.’
‘No!’ Agatha protested. ‘That don’t make no sense. Vampires drink blood, not vomit. Everyone knows that.’
‘You know nothing, you ignorant little girl,’ the nun shouted at Agatha. ‘I know all about these matters. Female vampires are different from male. They are like famine ghouls: they eat anything. We must look for signs.’
She pushed Godiva back, and Godiva, too dizzy to stop her, let her look for what she expected to see.
‘There!’ the nun exclaimed at once. ‘Two marks right there, one each at the inner side of both legs. These are the doors through which this vampire spirit comes and goes. Oh, Holy Mary, I must exorcise the demon!’
‘But those marks be from riding bareback,’ Agatha protested. ‘See,’ she said, holding up the baby’s pillow that had been Godiva’s seat during the ride. ‘There is a little smudge of blood on one side, from the chafing.’
‘Nonsense, girl. The Devil can go anywhere and do anything to trick you. It is he – in the form of a she-vampire – who marked that pillow with blood. It is a sign.’
‘You’re just making this all up!’ Agatha shouted.
Infuriated, the nun lashed out at her with the little whip, and Agatha, her arm burning, leaped away.
Meanwhile Godiva lay still, as though all this talk of vampires and the Devil had nothing to do with her. Sister Mary stared at her intently and decided this was another sign that the evil spirit was taking over her body.
‘I feel ill again,’ Godiva whispered. ‘I’m dizzy and frightened. There’s something bad in this room.’
The nun took the novices aside and addressed them so
mbrely. ‘The demon in her dream was real. She has taken up lodging in her stomach. Now she is entering her mind, and Godiva will grow confused and melancholy. I will give her something to calm her down, and I’ll pray and sit with her through the time when demons are strongest, at the break of day. You two try to sleep. I’ll call you later.’
Godiva had broken into a heavy sweat again, and Agatha wiped her brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water.
‘Enough of that! The Devil likes lavender,’ Sister Mary declared. ‘And he likes unconsecrated virgins, too. Off with you now and leave Godiva in my hands.’
‘But she’s sick,’ Agatha protested, ‘and I am her maid. She’s used to me.’ She turned to Godiva. ‘Do you want me to go, mistress?’
Godiva looked puzzled. ‘What’s the matter, Agatha? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Doing what, mistress?’