"How can you lie like this?" Katel shouted at the man's back. "You know nothing of what I do."
Rob shook his head, suspecting these were the first truthful words Katel had spoken since entering the field. They did him no good. Once more, simple men congealed into a mob, their threats rumbling from them, the volume rising swiftly upward until it became a muted roar.
Lord Meynell leaned down to speak to his men. "Take the boy into the abbey." It was a brusque command.
As the muted roar became a bellow of rage horror turned to terror on Katel's face. "Nay!" he pleaded to those around him. "She lies! They all lie, having no evidence to support their words. They know nothing of which they speak!"
Truthful words, every one. They were also Katel's last coherent words. He squealed in terror as those around him grabbed him down from his horse.
"Nay!" his son howled in pain and tore free of those who held him. The lad flew into the crowd as Stanrudde's folk did to his sire what Katel had planned for them to do to Rob.
Panic exploded in Rob as the mob turned on the lad, intent on ending Katel's line. He could not let Johanna's son, Master Walter's grandson, die. He did not give himself time to reconsider before he leapt into the fray to save the boy.
The Priory of Saint Anne
One hour past Sext
Saint Blesilla's Day, 1197
Outside the prioress's office, sleet battered at the wooden walls. The wind howled at the door, demanding entry as it thrust icy fingers into the room. In response the single branch of candles in the center of this bleak room cast swords of light toward that portal. The light made the floor tiles gleam, all green, rust-red, and white, then threw new brightness onto the priory's chair of state.
That piece was a homely item, untouched by paint or carvings, its tall back dwarfing its aged occupant. Rob watched the prioress, struggling to rein in his impatience. Now that Katel was dead, she had no choice but to release Johanna.
The churchwoman, dressed in the black habit and white wimple of her order, leaned out of the chair's depths toward him. Caught in the frame of her headdress, the old woman's skin was soft and loose, seemingly held to her bones by the web of wrinkles that crisscrossed her face. "You may not see her." This was a steely proclamation.
Rob stared at her, shocked by the harshness of her reply. The joy that had buoyed him against exhaustion slipped as his thoughts turned, trying to find some reason for so absolute a refusal. Certain she'd misunderstood his message, he tried once more. "My lady prioress, I have come to fetch Mistress Johanna back to Stanrudde. Her husband has died, and her son has been sorely injured. She must return to settle his estate."
The old woman's faded green eyes narrowed to slits as her mouth tensed. "She cannot leave the priory."
Rob's shock descended into anger. Johanna must be desperate for news of him and the outcome of their defense. Although her son, Peter, was being well tended by Colin and his own master's wife, Rob knew the boy had a soul-deep need for his mother just now.
It had already taken him too long to get here as it was. First, all the councilmen had all wished to offer their apologies. Although he'd shrugged these off as swiftly as possible, the abbot had caught him next, wanting to speak to him about the stolen wheat. No matter how dearly Rob needed to find Johanna, he could not refuse the churchman, not after all the good the abbot had done him. An hour had been eaten simply in polite refusals of the offer to join the churchman at his meat.
After that, he'd gone to Master Walter's house, seeking the servants who would know where Johanna was. They had been reluctant to open the gate to him, fearing he meant them harm for what their master had done to him. If more precious time had been wasted in soothing them, at long last one of them, Syward by name, had agreed to lead him here. Now that he was here, this churchwoman was going to refuse to let him see Johanna? Nay, she would not.
"I am telling you, I must see her," Rob demanded, his voice rising to a threatening tone.
The old woman didn't even flinch. "Have you trouble with your hearing?" she snapped back. "Listen again as I tell you. You may not see her."
Rob's fists clenched. Once again, someone was putting a barrier between him and the woman he named his. His emotions swelled past all his ability to control them. "You cannot deny me!" he roared.
"In that you are wrong," she retorted, her own anger making her words cool, rather than hot. "You are no one I know. If she were truly widowed or her son injured, the city council would send a messenger with whom I was acquainted to inform me of this. As you are neither her husband nor her kin, you have no right to demand anything in regard to her."
Rob caught his breath against the urge to cry aloud that he was, indeed, Johanna's husband. Were he to do this, the prioress would only call him liar. To her, and all the world, it was Katel who owned that title. Now that the churchwoman was set against him he had no choice but to retreat and find another way to pry Johanna free of this place.
"That would be true were she a nun, but she is only a visitor." His voice softened. "Please, let her be the one to choose whether she will see me or nay."
"How dare you argue with me!” The prioress rose from her chair, her face twisting in dislike of him. She had once been a tall woman, now she almost bent in half. Grasping the walking stick from beside her chair, she used it to brace her on her feet. "Once again, you are wrong," she spat out. "Johanna has chosen to retire from the world, seeking to find a closer relationship to her God, as well as forgiveness for her many sins. As a novice she can have no visitors. Now begone with you, granting me the courtesy of never returning. In case you have not that willpower, know that my gates will ever be barred to you." It was a cold dismissal.
These words tore through Rob, leaving him breathless with hurt. Last even, Johanna had mentioned she was convent bound. Had she had so little faith in their future that she'd given herself to God to escape Katel's plot? All the joy he'd known in anticipation of this reunion departed, leaving him drained and empty.
Heartsore, Rob stared after the churchwoman as she hobbled through the office's inner doorway. When she had stepped into the cloistered reaches of her domain she pulled the door tightly shut behind her. It was but another statement of her intention to keep Johanna from him
Depression tried to consume him. Of a sudden Master Colin's ancient words rose in him. Doomed was the man who lacked the courage to ask after what was his heart's desire. Aye, and second chances were a rare thing, never to be refused. This advice was as good in affairs of the heart as it was in business matters.
Hope roared to life in him. If a married woman wished to enter a convent it took her husband's permission to do so. Rob had never given his permission for Johanna to enter this convent, thus any vows she'd spoken were worthless. What he needed now was to twist Abbot Eustace into declaring them well and truly wed.
Hope doubled in strength. He had cartloads of wheat in the abbey's courtyard. Surely, if offered in trade the churchman would find it in his best interest to move at all speed on this issue.
"Master?" Syward asked. "What will you do now?"
"Do?" The word left Rob in a gust of blazing determination. He turned on his heel and strode for the door. "I think me I shall return to Stanrudde and speak to the abbot. This woman cannot stand between me and my wife."
The Priory of Saint Anne
two hours past Terce
The feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, 1197
The storm that had arrived three days ago had finally exhausted itself, leaving in its wake naught but a still and icy cold. In an effort to trap what heat they could within the cloister the nuns had not removed the shutters that protected the walkway from the elements. Thus, what was usually an open-air passageway became a long, dim corridor lit only by tallow lamps.
This afternoon found Johanna sitting on one of the wooden benches that lined the wall along with the majority of the sisters. It was their time for laboring, the nuns doing what women everywhere else did: plying
their needles. In this case, the sisters worked on behalf of Stanrudde's abbey. Some of them produced grand embroideries; others sewed the simple garments given to those laborers who worked for that house. Guided by the same rules as their brother house, labor was done in silence, or what passed for silence during the winter. From up and down the cloister's narrow length, women sniffed and coughed against the cold. It was in the hopes of restoring suppleness that they raised their fingers to their mouths, blowing the warmth of their bodies onto them. Behind it all, the rustle of fabric could be heard along with the squeaking draw of thread passing through it.
Johanna's hands were cold as well, but her heart was by far the colder. She stared at the lengths of linen that lay across her lap: the unassembled body of a shirt. A threaded needle pricked its weave.
Why she'd been given sewing to do she did not know, nor did she care. Her tasks during her last stay at the priory had been to tutor the girls who came to learn the same lessons she had so long ago. It mattered naught what she was asked to do since she was beyond doing anything.
From the passageway's end came the steady tapping of Mother Sybil's walking stick. One by one, the nuns raised their heads to acknowledge their prioress's presence, all save Johanna. It would have taken more strength than she owned to do so.
Three days had passed since Katel brought her here. The morn after her arrival, that being Saint Blesilla's Day, Johanna's heart had burned with the certainty that she'd succeeded in saving Rob from Katel's plot. She'd been certain Rob, or someone, would come before day's end to fetch her back to Stanrudde. By the dawning of the second day her faith strained against doubts. Still, she assured herself that Rob's absence did not mean he was dead. Many were the circumstances that might have kept him from finding her here. By yesterday's dawning, depression had set its claws in her heart. Evil doubts tried to rise in her, whispering to her that he had abandoned her once again.
Johanna tried to slay them. Had she not failed him once by disbelieving when she should have kept her faith? She couldn't allow herself to make the same mistake twice. Instead she kept telling herself that, years ago, Rob had vowed to love her always and he had kept his vow. If he had promised that only death would keep them apart, then Katel must have won.
The tapping stopped before Johanna, and the hems of Prioress Sybil's black habit flowed into soft heaps onto the stone floor. Slowly Johanna raised her head. The prioress stood as erect as possible, her nostrils flared, her mouth tense and harsh, as she looked on one who had been a former student.
How easily Katel had poisoned one who had known Johanna so well for so long. Three days ago, Johanna would have sworn the prioress would never have been taken in by Katel's lies. Now, in every word Mother Sybil uttered over how Johanna must find succor from her sin in prayer, Johanna heard herself convicted of adultery.
With a hurried glance over her shoulder, the old woman thrust out a hand, as if Johanna were once more a child, not a woman of one and thirty. "Come with me to the lady's chapel," the prioress commanded. There was a raw urgency to her words. "We must speak."
Johanna's heart sank. These lectures were unendurable in her present state of mind. Once Mother Sybil had her cornered, she'd ramble on and on about how Johanna must commit herself to God. Yesterday's rhetoric had been so intense that Johanna had finally agreed to don a novice's habit simply to win free of the old woman. But on the issue of taking her vow Johanna would not budge. She had no desire to be a nun. If Rob was dead, then she’d happily wait for the sheriff to find the grain and come to fetch her back to Stanrudde. It would be with joy not fear that she would face the hangman. Rob would be waiting for her in the hereafter.
If Rob was not dead, but had abandoned her once more ... Johanna stopped herself, not even wishing to think of this.
"Mother Sybil, could we speak another time?" she asked quietly.
From the courtyard beyond the dorter came the sound of the gate bar being dropped. There was a subtle murmuring among the sewing nuns as they all aimed their gazes in that direction. The gates were opening, rather than the smaller, inset door through which most folk walked. This meant a substantial party was arriving.
"Nay, we must talk now, and you must go to the lady's chapel." This was a frantic demand.
"My lady prioress!"
Johanna looked in the direction of the man's quiet call. Their chaplain, a man almost as old as Mother Sybil, stood at the end of the hall. Beside him were two of the farm laborers that the priory supported.
In the courtyard metal jangled. Horses whinnied as men called out for their mounts to halt. Female murmurs rose into a quiet trill of fear. Every one of the sisters stared at the woman they hoped could protect them from attack.
All save Johanna. She smiled. It was the sheriff, come at last.
Forgetting that the prioress knew nothing of what Katel had plotted, she said, "Do not fear for me, my lady. I will go with him."
"You cannot!" the prioress shrieked as Johanna rose to her feet. This set all the other women to squawking and crying as well. "You cannot go with him. I will not allow it!"
"I know you mean well," Johanna told her, "but it is better this way."
It was with a light step that she started for the office. The churchwoman hobbled after her. "Your life and your soul will be the forfeit, Johanna. Do not do this!"
"Nay," she assured Mother Sybil, "it is not I who has sinned. No matter what my husband said, you must believe that I have done no wrong."
"No wrong!" The prioress caught her by the arm.
However gnarled and twisted her fingers the old woman's grip did not lack for strength. She pulled Johanna to a stop, then grabbed her by the other arm and shook her. "Did you not come here in unfit gowns and with your hair unbound and uncovered? How can you even contemplate this? Mother of God, but you were bruised!"
Johanna stared at the prioress, unable to make sense of her protest.
"Mother Sybil!" Sister Porter came streaking down the corridor, her black skirts and mantle flying out behind her. Usually harsh in temperament and stern in attitude, her plain face was twisted in terror. "Forgive me, but they threatened to batter down the door if I did not open it to them. There are so many of them!"
At fright in one usually so bold, panic erupted in the hallway. Women screamed and leapt to their feet. Needlework flew in all directions. Some turned toward the chapel in the hopes of sanctuary while others went toward the dorter to hide under their blankets. In the chaos two tallow lamps fell, their crockery bowls shattering on the stone floor. Rendered fat oozed across the hard, cold surface.
The scattering women thrust past their prioress. Mother Sybil released Johanna to steady herself. With her mind yet fixed on the sheriff and death, Johanna once again started for the office.
"Catch her, Father," the prioress screamed to the chaplain and his aides at the head of the corridor. "Bring her to the chapel. We will bar the door and hold her there against them."
Stanrudde
Late August, 1180
Johanna sat on the cot in her bedchamber. She hadn't moved since Helewise had placed her here, once she was fully dressed. With her head bowed, her hair flowed freely down around her, a curling red-gold curtain. She stared at her hands in her lap. Her fingers seemed a deathly white against the blue-gray of her wedding gown.
"Rob will come for me," she whispered to herself, her voice as pale and wan as she felt.
Today was Dies Mala, a day for bad luck. Even the priest at St. Stephen's had suggested the wedding date be changed, but Katel was in a great hurry to say his vows to her. Until he'd done so, Papa's will could not be read, or so the abbot had told him.
"Rob will come for me," she repeated to herself. Only these words stood between her and what she could not bear.
Papa had died three days ago. She tried to find tears to shed at that thought but she'd cried so much of late there was no moisture left within her body. With a shaking sigh, she forced her head to lift. This took every ounce of e
nergy she owned.
Her father's bed still stood in its corner, just where it always had, but it no longer belonged to her sire. Katel ordered it be stripped, its linens, draperies, and mattress, burned. So, too, had her husband-to-be demanded that the woodwork be washed with the harshest of soaps, against the possibility that what felled Papa might be contagious. Katel's new curtains were blue and gold. For vanity's sake, so were the blankets. It was a finer, softer mattress that filled the bed's box.
Where her father had been frugal and simple in his tastes, Katel was already spending Johanna’s inheritance, even before he had it. In the last days he'd bought himself three robes, all of them made of the finest fabrics, and sent the goldsmith into bliss by ordering four heavy chains for himself. He was sating his anger, repaying himself for having to take a bride who was no virgin. Still, if Katel continued at this rate, what her father had accrued over his lifetime would be gone within the year, leaving her impoverished as well.
Once again, desperation nipped at Johanna's heart. "Rob will come for me."
In her mind's eye she conjured Rob. He would appear out of the crowd at the moment the priest demanded any objections to her joining to Katel. Rob would call out that they were already wed then take Katel's place before the church door. Together, they would share new public vows to replace the private ones they'd traded.
"Rob will come," she assured herself.
He had to come, else she would be trapped in a horrible place from which she would never escape. Beneath her depression there was the tiniest spark of anger at this thought.
"I think that he will not, little mistress," Helewise responded from the doorway. There was a quiet sadness in her voice.
Johanna stared up at her. It was time. She could see it in Helewise's eyes.
The need to run from Stanrudde, as far and as fast as she could, woke. It would do no good. No matter where she went Katel would find her. Even if Katel no longer wanted her he still meant to wed her. Only if they were married could he spend what Papa had earned.
A Love For All Seasons Page 30