Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  James informed Gloria that Isabella and he used to bathe once a month, rinsing their bodies of accumulated grime with a bucket of water and washcloth in between. Having found out how tiresome it was to heat the water and fill the bathtub, she could understand perfectly why most people of this time seldom bathed, and she was grateful for the fact that both James and Isabella had always preferred to keep themselves reasonably clean and fresh.

  James peered behind the screen, which shielded the bath both from the window and from the rest of the kitchen, astounded at how comfortable he felt with his own brazen-ness. ‘How is the water?’

  Gloria did not jump at his voice, though she had her eyes closed, savouring the sensations as the infusion’s aroma tickled her nostrils, clearing her head as well as easing the aching in her bones. ‘It’s heaven,’ she said, opening one eye, half expecting him to be standing there either behind the screen, or with his back turned to her, or at least with hands covering his eyes. Instead, she found him staring at her naked body through the gently rippling water, eyes focused totally on her, drinking in her beauty. ‘Seen enough yet?’ she chuckled.

  James shook his head. ‘I think I shall never see enough of you, Ria, my love. You are exquisite!’

  Completely unabashed at her nakedness, Gloria stood, holding out her hand for James to assist her as she stepped from the tub. She was reasonably pleased when he produced a towel with which she could dry herself, but was less pleased when she felt its roughness. Talk about scouring the dead skin off! Still, it’s just one more thing to get used to, she thought a little sourly, as she dried herself thoroughly.

  ‘I think,’ she muttered with a fiendish smile, ‘that you should take a bath too!’

  Before James could react, Gloria pushed him backwards and he fell with a splash into the tub, spilling water all over the floor as he struggled to his feet again, spluttering. With a demonic laugh, he reached for Gloria and she ran from him, squealing with childlike excitement as he chased her through the Great Hall and back up the stairs to their bedchamber. As he caught her, the towel fell to the floor and they kissed passionately, sinking onto the bed. ‘Oh, Ria, my love, how can one man love a woman with such potency? I cannot imagine my life without you now!’

  Gloria’s open eyes smiled into his as they kissed, their desire increasing. ‘I think I’m going to be very happy here with you, James Trevayne, providing you don’t die of pneumonia – so get out of those wet clothes!’

  James giggled like a naughty child as he struggled to remove his sodden clothing, until, as naked as Gloria, he lay down beside her on the bed, pulling her towards him in a tight embrace. ‘It is a great relief that nobody may witness such debauchery!’

  Gloria smiled. ‘I guess men and women don’t parade before each other naked here, not even if they’re a couple!’

  James shook his head. ‘Even two people in love rarely witness the other’s nakedness. The act of lovemaking is for procreation, not to fulfil the carnal desires of lust. A man who requires the sating of such wantonness might visit a whore!’

  Gloria arched an eyebrow. ‘I do hope you’re not likening me to a whore, my darling?’

  ‘No, my love, I am not! You are a princess in my eyes. Your beauty shall set you apart from others of this time, but when in public you and I must conduct ourselves according to the customs of my time.’

  ‘Of course, but when in the privacy of our home, we may do as we please!’

  ‘Our home! It has a nice resonance, think you not? You have been here such a short time, and it pleases me that you are comfortable already.’

  Gloria cast a glance at their united nudity wryly. ‘I think our present state of undress speaks for itself!’

  James laughed. ‘Indeed, my Lady. However, King Henry gave me warning. He said eyes within the village watch us, so we must heed caution.’

  ‘But I’m a foreigner, a visitor from far off lands. I don’t know your customs.’

  James shook his head. ‘That shall hold no sway with the villagers. Should they view you with suspicion, they might do all within their power to turn others against you. We must have a care!’

  Gloria held up her hand. ‘Okay, okay, I get the picture. This is going to be tougher than I thought!’

  ‘Worry not, my Lady, I shall guide you as best I can!’

  They spent the day talking and laughing, getting to know each other better in more relaxed surroundings, now the immediate threat of Samuel Wylams no longer lingered around them.

  It transpired that much of what Gloria knew about James was true, so she spent most of the time talking about herself and her life. She talked about the dreams, how they had started upon her first visit to her grandmother’s home in Scotland, and she spoke of how Isabella’s works were published in the 1860s, and about her own writings – which James encouraged her to continue. He even suggested that she complete some of Isabella’s unfinished stories, of which there were many. This idea Gloria was initially unsure about, but she promised to give it serious consideration. She was eager to read some of Isabella’s other stories, having read only King of Saints and Realm of Dark Knights in full, and The Master of the Scrolls merely in part.

  Some considerable time later, as the golden aurora of sunset welcomed the onset of night, Gloria sat on one of the less than comfortable wooden benches in the Great Hall, dressed in a simple white chemise made of a homespun cloth that did not unduly irritate her skin, and waited for James to bring their supper. The chemise clung to Gloria’s curvaceous figure like a second skin, and as she sat there, she realised her figure was rather fuller than it had any right to be.

  How had she failed to notice it before? Probably too caught up in recent events, she thought. She placed a hand on her stomach, knowing she was not putting on weight merely because she had been eating too much recently – and now she thought of it, she had been eating rather more than normal. My God, I’m eating for two! I must be pregnant!

  The thought appalled her because her first instinct was that Phil must be the father. However, counting the days off on her fingers, and thinking things through logically, there was no way that was possible.

  Her second notion appalled her too. The father had to be Allan! Ordinarily she would have been thrilled; to bear the child of the man she loved. But he was little more than a cipher of her past in the future. More than that though, there was still the very real possibility that he was the future reincarnation of Samuel Wylams!

  She shivered with intense unease as a myriad of thoughts tumbled through her mind. The prospect of giving birth in this archaic time terrified her. The very nature of childbirth in any time was brutally beautiful, but she wanted Twentieth Century medical staff on standby, not some old crone from the village brandishing a rusty scalpel!

  James appeared from the kitchen bearing two bowls of hot broth that he had carefully prepared. He passed one to Gloria, who closed her eyes, inhaling the welcoming and intoxicating aroma.

  She smiled appreciatively as the shock of redolence exploded at the back of her throat, awakening her taste buds. ‘This smells wonderful.’

  ‘It is chicken and vegetable broth. I have not bothered with much else other than bread and cheese, cooked chicken and vegetables, and apples since Isabella’s passing, for our cook decided she could not stay on, and so I have relied on memory of the taste to try to recreate the broth. For you, I make the effort!’

  ‘And it’s much appreciated,’ sighed Gloria as she dipped her spoon into the steaming liquid and carefully sipped it. ‘Oh, it’s as delicious as it smells! Your memory is quite remarkable!’

  James laughed. ‘I oft-times helped Mother when I was a child. We had no luxury such as a cook! Father made me work the fields of our farm along with my brother as we grew to manhood, and then I married Isabella, whose family was wealthy and who employed several servants as well as the cook, so it is many years since I have prepared a meal of significance.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done a fine job!’ said Gloria
, ripping a chunk of bread and dunking it into the soup. She stifled a giggle. ‘My mother used to tell me off for dunking bread in my soup when we went to restaurants, but I always caught her doing it herself when we had soup at home!’

  ‘More talk of your time of which I understand nothing!’

  ‘Don’t worry; you’ll soon get to understand most of the things I say, much as I’ll understand things that are unique to this time.’

  James shook his head in wonder. ‘You display such calm about your strange situation! I think I should be terrified, were I to find myself in a strange time not my own.’

  ‘Well, this is what destiny has planned for me, so I’ve got to get used to it.’ Gloria set down her spoon, facing James solemnly. ‘Don’t get me wrong for one second, I’m terrified! The bravura you see is an act. I mean no disrespect to you, but this time is much less civilised than mine. It frightens me that there are still executions for witchcraft, and the sanitation is gross. But you know no different, so it’s not awful to you, and because I love you so much, you make it easier to bear! I think the hardest thing for me is not being able to see my family again. I really miss my mother, and Nana Turner!’

  ‘You are close to the Matriarch of your family?’

  Gloria nodded. ‘Very, even though we didn’t see each other very often. It’s such a wrench, but then if I was back there and either of them died tomorrow, it would be as much of a struggle to go on. I guess that’s the way I’m looking at it, that they’re dead. They are most likely doing the same. We mourn, and then we move on.’

  ‘I mourn no longer for Isabella. Seven months she has been gone, yet still she has been a part of my life. And now here you are, a blessing come to relieve the burden of my grief. I am certain the villagers shall not take kindly to your appearance.’

  ‘I kind of figured that out for myself. Most of the villagers seem to worship the ground Isabella walked on.’

  ‘Her family has been landowners hereabouts for many years. She was much loved by everyone.’

  Gloria gave James a pensive look. ‘They didn’t know about Isabella and Samuel did they, or about her and Peter?’

  James shook his head. ‘None would have believed it of her. That she would ally herself to the infamous Warlock of Wicca Hill? That she should choose to lie with her cousin instead of with her husband? No, none would believe her capable of such things, so I told them nothing.’

  Gloria continued eating her broth in silence for a few minutes. ‘They will not take kindly to me then, will they? A woman who arrived seemingly overnight, taking you away from Isabella’s cherished memory, living in sin with you – bearing your child.’

  James choked on his broth at her softly spoken statement. ‘My… child?’

  Gloria took a deep breath. ‘Well, not yours really, but to them it would seem so.’ She hoped he was not about to show how vile Sixteenth Century men could be when confronted with a fact they might not particularly like. ‘Yes, James – I believe I am with child!’

  ‘It is sired by this Allan of whom you speak?’

  Gloria nodded.

  ‘But you shall raise it here, as mine? Or intend you to abandon me, return to him?’

  ‘I want you to think of her as yours, James.’

  ‘Her?’ James gasped. ‘You know it to be a girl?’

  ‘That was a slip of the tongue, but yes, it’s going to be a girl, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s yours.’

  James came round to kneel on the floor beside her bench, clasping her hands in his, staring imploringly into her eyes. ‘Please, tell me you jest not when you say I am to think of her as my own?’

  ‘She’s yours, James!’

  James kissed the backs of Gloria’s hands, and then leant upwards to kiss her lips. ‘You know not how happy this makes me. Long have I dreamed to sire a child. I care not if it be boy or girl, so long as the babe be healthy. If it truly be a girl as you say, I wish her to be named Elizabeth, after my mother.’

  Gloria smiled sweetly. ‘Then that is what we shall call her. Elizabeth Trevayne!’

  ‘You would have her take my family name?’

  ‘Of course,’ nodded Gloria. ‘What else would your daughter be called!’

  James took her face in his hands and kissed her lips again. ‘My love, if ‘tis possible, I adore you more with each passing hour! My heart is filled with such joy it feels fit to burst!’

  Gloria stroked his cheek tenderly, her eyes moist with tears of happiness. ‘As mine does too, James. Now that you have named our unborn child, I know that everything will turn out for the best. This is where I am meant to be – here with you and our daughter, Elizabeth. I love you, and I shall be happy here.’

  Yes, she thought as once again she and James joined in a lingering kiss, filled with genuine passion – everything will be all right… for the moment!

  Winter 1537

  The snows came at least six weeks earlier than normal that year, with autumn barely over before the first flurries of white fell. Two weeks later, a crisp covering of snow deeply carpeted the ground across much of England, and those local to Ashfield, being a deeply superstitious lot, warned that the early snow was an ill omen – a dire portent of evil to come.

  Every year, Sir Henry Fitzwilliam came down from London to spend Christmastide with his friends and distant relatives in Ashfield. He often arrived a week or two before Christmas, staying well into the New Year, but could not this year because the fierce bitingly cold winds than blew from the north, coupled with the layer of frosty snow, a foot deep in places, made the journey impossible.

  James and Gloria were immensely relieved when they realised Sir Henry would be unable to stay with them at Neville Hall over the festive period. They did not mind the change in plans, because they were well aware of Sir Henry’s feelings towards Gloria. He had met her some months earlier, shortly after the local physician confirmed that she was indeed pregnant, and he was less than delighted that the pair were, as far as he was aware, cohabiting without having married.

  He had been thoroughly unpleasant towards her, some-thing James would not countenance, even though Gloria herself told James not to let it worry him. She could weather any stinging criticisms Sir Henry threw in her direction, but being heavily pregnant, Gloria’s emotions were running high and James wanted nothing to upset her.

  They had not revealed to Sir Henry that they had actually been married in a quiet wedding at the local church before Gloria’s pregnancy became too noticeable. A small number of villagers attended the private ceremony, though none could actually decide whether they liked the bride or not. Some were prepared to give her the chance to prove herself in their eyes, while others, eternally loyal to the Neville family, detested her on principle and were appalled at James’s decision to remarry, considering it a black day when he betrayed Isabella’s memory.

  The people who crowed about Isabella’s betrayal noted the fact that the bride wore a loose fitting dress with which to hide the damning evidence of her apparent pregnancy, but then they were looking for obvious signs of her forcing James into matrimony. The few who believed they could grow to like Ria, and thought to give her a chance, suffered the indignity of silence.

  The hateful villagers decided that to have ensnared James within her web of falsehoods, Ria must surely be a witch, and though they could not prove this they secretly vowed to be patient, bide their time. Come the right time, The Witch Ria might make an uncalculated mistake to reveal her true nature, and they would be waiting to seize the opportunity immediately.

  They could forgive James himself his lapse of judgment, for it was clear that he had been bewitched – everyone knew a witch had the power to control a man’s mind and could use her mental powers to manipulate even the strongest will. In his moments of weakness following Isabella’s murder, James’s grief and stress had clearly left him vulnerable, with no defence whatever against the machinations of an inhuman creature such as Ria.

  The remainder of the villagers saw
Gloria as a beautiful young woman who had helped mend James Trevayne’s broken heart, helped him overcome the grief he had endured with such dignity following the savage slaying of his beloved Isabella. If he and Ria loved each other and made each other happy, then nobody had the right to judge ill of the pair, even though they frowned upon the thought that she might be pregnant at the wedding.

  The early onset of winter lay square at Gloria’s feet in the eyes of the obsessively ignorant villagers. She was aware of their open hostility and sensed Sir Henry’s hand in the way they viewed her, but because she made as few visits into the village as possible, Gloria maintained to her husband that it did not unduly bother her that so many people disliked her.

  As a newcomer and an interloper into their way of life, it was perhaps understandable that she should be viewed with a degree of mistrust, but James was appalled at the continued resentment which so many of the villagers displayed towards his new bride even now, months later. They received precious few Christmas wishes from the village, and even those who had attended the wedding seemed to be drifting away.

  In spite of her protestations that it did not bother her, Gloria was deeply upset at their treatment of both her and most especially of James. He had been a central figure within the community for many years before her arrival, and in a way she felt guilty, even though she knew deep down it was not of her doing. Part of her believed James would be better off without her, but she loved him so much she was not about to be driven away.

  Some things never change, she often mused while writing stories. Time can pass, centuries might come and go, generations may live and die, but the deep rooted loyalties and scepticisms of village life never once changed – once an outsider, always an outsider, to be viewed with anger, mistrust and hostility. She had worked hard to make herself accepted in Neville Hill of her own time: it had been an uphill struggle, even in the more enlightened Twentieth Century. Here, however, things really were still deeply entrenched in the Dark Ages; it was not merely an uphill struggle, it was an impossible task, so in the end, she gave up and just got on with living her life at Neville Manor with James as quietly and unobtrusively as possible.