by Ann Turner
‘He’s off to visit his whore,’ Heresuid muttered, bitterly. ‘Strange how men can do as they please, but us women have to act as saints in the world, whores in the marriage bed, turn blind eyes, pretend all is well, accept our husbands for what they are, obey them or suffer the consequences. He treats the dog better than me.’
Esma put an arm over her mother’s shoulders. ‘Then come with me when I leave, after the baby is born. I’ll need you so much then. We will manage without men.’
Heresuid smiled sadly and shook her head.
‘I am his chattel, tied to him; my place is by his side and I shall stay. Had you found a husband, you would have gone to him and I would have stayed here. Everything will work out for the best, Esma – believe me, it will.’ She laid her hands on her daughter’s belly. ‘Did you feel anything unusual after he hit you?’
‘I think I’m all right. My belly hurts, but I don’t think he has harmed us,’ Esma answered. She felt sore, and hoped the words she had spoken to calm her mother were true.
‘Then get you to bed. I shall wait for Aelrid’s return. I do not want him disturbing you,’ insisted Heresuid.
Gratefully, Esma retired to her small bed and drew the ragged curtain across for privacy. She whispered comforting words to her unborn baby, telling the child to be strong and to stay safe inside her womb.
In the early hours of the following morning, Aelrid stumbled back into his home, kicking out at the dog, who was warming itself by the embers of the fire, and shouted for his wife to attend to him. Esma pulled the rough bed sheet over her head as she heard her parents arguing, followed by the noise of her father violently beating her mother and then, after a pause, the vile sound of him forcing himself on her. Esma, still hidden, cried quietly to herself. Sadly, these events happened at regular intervals throughout her life. If this is what being married would be like, she would take her chances with her baby in the woods. Better an impoverished beggar than a beaten and humiliated wife.
When Esma rose from her bed the following morning, Heresuid was standing by the cooking pot, already preparing the potage for their meal when they arrived home from the fields. Her eye was swollen from the beating, there was bruising on her face and arms, and her hands shook as she handled the vegetables, yet she greeted her daughter with forced brightness. Esma silently sat at the table and helped herself to a piece of bread, cheese and a small cup of ale.
‘Your father left early. He said he had business to finish off and would go straight to the fields,’ Heresuid said, coming over to the table as she wiped her hand on her skirt.
‘Did he say what it was?’ asked Esma.
Heresuid shook her head. ‘He did not speak much when he got home last night.’ She paused and bit her lower lip to stop it quivering. Sniffed loudly, she quickly brushed a strand of hair from her face and forced her voice to be calm. ‘He only said we would find out later. Come along, daughter, we can’t keep him waiting. We must get to the fields. We don’t want to give him an excuse to repeat last night.’
Silently, the two women walked with others to the fields. Aelrid was already there, talking with another man. They were laughing, then they glanced briefly at Esma and shook hands. The other man walked to his allotted area of the field. Aelrid, now in a good mood, so different from the previous night, bowled over. Grinning at his wife, he turned and began the daily toil. Heresuid was worried by this good humour; it could only lead to trouble. It usually did.
It was a fine summer’s day and the hot sun beat down on the workers as they bent over their tools, weeding the crops, watering and tending to them so as to be sure the harvest would be a good one. If the crop was sufficient, Lord Oswyn would permit them to keep the surplus for themselves, so it was important to ensure the crops grew tall and strong. Esma was finding bending over more difficult as her pregnancy advanced. She wanted to stop briefly, to rest for a moment, but she knew her father would be watching her, waiting to find a fault, displeased if she faltered at any time. She would not give him the satisfaction of beating either her or her mother, so she stretched her tired body before continuing.
Lord Oswyn came riding by and everyone greeted him obediently. Aelrid bowed low, giving no indication of the hatred he felt to the man on the horse – the father of his daughter’s illegitimate child. Oswyn did not notice the family bowing and failed to see that Esma was pregnant. He had forgotten her quickly and she was no importance to him. He passed by; there were more important things to occupy his mind than the dreary drudgery of their daily lives.
Esma watched him after he had passed by. Her heart was also filled with hatred for him, for the ruining of her life. She had been nothing to him and she was still nothing – a moment’s gratification, that was all. The consequence that was her unborn baby did not matter. How many more were spread around the village or the local countryside? Too many, Esma assumed.
The workers in the field stopped at midday to eat, rest and talk together under the shade of nearby trees. Aelrid hurried to another group of men, before returning to Heresuid and Esma with a man of similar age to him. He was short and thickset, with black, unruly, unkempt hair, and dark stubble on his weather-beaten and leathery face. His clothes were untidy and dirty; the sleeves of his shirt were too long and his stout fingers, with dirty and broken nails, protruded from the threadbare cuffs. Above his dark and beady eyes, his brows were thick – so bushy, in fact, that they were almost solely one. Esma immediately felt a stirring of mistrust as they approached. Her father was smiling broadly. Heresuid greeted the other man politely. He sat himself close to Esma and studied her intently, making her feel uncomfortable.
‘This is the widower, Garrett,’ announced Aelrid. ‘His wife died recently and he needs a new one to look after his six children. He is willing to take our daughter, her bastard as well, in marriage.’
‘She’s young and has proved her fertility, so she’ll give me more children,’ Garrett approved. Heresuid looked dismayed at the prospect of her daughter being married to this man, who was known as a wife beater and much more violent than Aelrid. Gossip had spread through the village that his wife had died by his hand.
‘Husband—’ she began.
Aelrid shot her a warning look and she fell silent. ‘There is no need for doubt. He shall marry Esma once the banns are read. She’ll be his before the brat is born.’
‘I assure you that I will take your daughter and not ask for a dowry. You are doing me the favour of giving me a new wife and my children will now have a mother,’ said Garrett, pleased with the circumstances that would bring him a fresh young woman to abuse and debase.
Esma shook her head. ‘Father, I do not want marriage to this man. He is old and ugly.’
At first, the two men looked shocked, then Garrett grew angry with her. ‘Your father told me you lured Lord Oswyn into your bed to seduce him and now you must pay the consequences for your sluttish behaviour. Be grateful I shall have you. What decent man would look twice at a trollop like you?’ he warned.
Esma’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘I did not lure him; he took me away and forced me,’ she argued.
‘That’s what they all say,’ Garrett replied, coolly. ‘I’m off to see the priest tonight to arrange the reading of the banns. In a month’s time, Esma, you’ll be mine. Like it or not, you will be my wife and you will obey my command. No slinking off in the middle of the night to mate with men. I’ll get you pregnant as soon as this brat is clear of your body.’ He put a sweaty hand on her swollen belly and dug his fingers in, before getting to his feet. After speaking again with Aelrid, he returned to the other men of the village to announce his forthcoming marriage.
Esma was desolate and could not concentrate on her work in the fields. Her vision was blurred with tears and her heart was aching with the awful thought of her life with Garrett as his punch bag and brood mare. This was not how she had dreamed he
r life would unfold. She had always known that a marriage would be arranged for her, but she had hoped her future husband would be nearer her own age. Then, the thought struck her: on her wedding night, would Lord Oswyn want to take her to the goose bed and have her? This thought would have been laughable had it not been so tragic. It was because he had taken her in the first place that she was facing this life sentence with Garrett! Even the unborn child must have sensed its mother’s distress as it had become still, as if to hide away from the only life it would know.
She had to get away and escape before the marriage could be performed, but where could she go? Later when Aelrid was in drink induced sleep, Esma would talk in secret with her mother and they would come up with a plan.
That evening, once Aelrid was sprawled in his chair snoring from the intake of ale, Heresuid and Esma went to the small paddock adjacent to their home. Here, their cow, sheep and pig were kept during the day and, before herding them in to keep them safe from the dangers of the night, they would be able to talk in secret.
‘Mother, I cannot marry that man,’ Esma whispered, urgently.
Heresuid nodded as she slapped the bony hindquarters of their cow. Her daughter, meanwhile, ushered the other two animals towards the open door. ‘I agree. I knew his late wife and she was always a sorry sight. He treated her badly, and beat her black and blue even when she was carrying. I fear death was a welcome release. I shall not let that happen to you. I’ve been thinking since last night and I may have a solution. You might not like it, but it could be the only way to stop the marriage.’
Heresuid tethered the three animals in a corner and drew her daughter close to whisper the plan in her ear. She was right; Esma did not like the idea, but it was more palatable than a life with Garrett. ‘We must choose our timing exactly. No rushing into this or things may go against us. If Aelrid and Garrett learn of it, both our lives would not be worth living.’
‘When, mother?’
‘I shall decide the best moment, but be ready at short notice. Once this begins, there will be no going back.’ Heresuid smiled at her daughter and touched her swollen body. ‘If it all works, your child could grow up in safety. What mother could ask for more?’
‘Or grandmother,’ added Esma and held her mother in her arms. All of this had made the young woman realise how strong and clever her mother truly was. She was even prepared to put up with a violent and abusive husband to ensure her daughter did not suffer the same fate as herself.
The next weeks passed by excruciatingly slowly for Esma. There had been no effect to her health or her baby’s health after her father had punched her. Heresuid kept reminding her daughter to be ready to act on a moment’s notice. At the church, the banns were being read and it would only be a short time before the wedding could occur.
Every evening, Garrett visited Aelrid and they had sat supping ale and laughing at the future of the impatient bridegroom. He would call Esma to him and insist she sat on his lap. He would then pull her mouth open to inspect her teeth and push her hair aside to look in her ears, as though she was a brood mare he was buying. He would grope her body with no regard for her child. He would remind her of what would be expected of her as his wife. His six children ranged in age from two to twelve years and were an unruly, feral lot. Esma would have her work cut out caring for them in between giving him more children and looking after every demand of her husband.
Heresuid would sit serenely in the background, darning clothes by candlelight and listening to Garrett’s torturous boasts of how he would beat his wife when she spoke or acted out of line. The two men agreed that the only way to keep a wife under control was to beat her senseless, to dominate her in the bed and to keep her pregnant. He sympathised with Aelrid that he had only produced one child and that it was a girl, as a man needed many offspring to help in the fields. To this, Aelrid would lament that God was punishing him for some crime to which he was innocent and they both agreed it was Heresuid’s fault for the lack of children in the house. Still, Heresuid sat calmly darning – her sot of a husband had no idea she was preparing her daughter’s escape. He could beat her and abuse her, but he could not stop her thinking. Tonight, she would help Esma take her first steps to a new life – a life that was safe.
It was late when Garrett finally stumbled home. It was now the opportune moment. Heresuid shook her daughter awake.
‘Esma, get your belongings together. We’ll do it once your father is in a drunken sleep,’ she whispered.
The young woman pulled a hemp bag, which was packed with clothes and the few possessions she owned, from under her bed. She sat on the bed and waited as instructed. Her heart was beating fast with anticipation and her nerves were on edge. The baby had been lively earlier and now it was still, as if it was holding its breath.
Heresuid poured a large jug of ale and placed it in front of Aelrid. He snorted awake and looked at the jug, then at her. She poured the ale into the cup and handed it to her husband, smiling benignly. She replenished the cup and sat opposite him, gazing adoringly at him.
‘Aelrid, I was listening to you and Garrett earlier and you are right. You do know best about how to look after a woman and how to keep her safe,’ she said, sweetly. Aelrid grunted. ‘I am just an ignorant and stupid woman, what do I know?’ She crossed to the shelves and fetched cheese and bread for her husband, cutting large portions for him and refilling the cup again. ‘Esma will be little use once the baby is born. She is best given to Garrett, who will give you the next best thing to a son – a grandson.’
‘Finally, you see sense,’ Aelrid answered through a mouthful of food. He swallowed another cup of ale, belched loudly and began to sway in his seat. He called his wife over and, as she stood by his side, he ran his hand up under her skirt, his fingers pinching, and buried his face in her breasts. ‘Get you up on this table and I will show you what Garrett will do to Esma every night of their marriage.’ His voice was muffled, his face still in her breasts.
‘One more cup of ale, husband,’ Heresuid insisted, pushing the cup into his hand. The strong liquid went down his throat in one gulp and, obediently, Heresuid sat on the table in front of him. She pulled her dress from her shoulders and hoisted her skirt up; her legs open, ready. Aelrid shakily stood and pulled down his hose, pushing himself forward. His sloppy lips sucked on her neck; one hand on the table steadying himself, the other squeezing at her breast. Then, he began swaying violently. Heresuid pulled back. Her plan was working! She felt behind her for the empty jug, grabbed it and clouted her husband across the head. He crashed to the floor and lay unconscious, drooling and snoring. Quickly, she jumped down.
‘Esma, quick! Before he wakes up,’ she called.
Esma, holding her hemp bag close to her body, edged cautiously around her unconscious father and, together, she and her mother hurried out into the night.
The evening air was still and warm, and clouds scurried across the sky, giving the moon the appearance of racing along with them. The two women went as fast as they could through the village and along the dusty track towards the local convent. Once there, they stood looking through the iron gates at the building that stood in the centre of cultivated vegetable and herb gardens. Esma looked pathetically at her mother.
‘What now? We cannot get to the door,’ she observed with disappointment.
Heresuid had not thought of this and she had to think quickly. ‘I shall not take you back. This has already begun and you will not return,’ she replied, determined. ‘All I can suggest is that we stay hidden until the morning. The sisters have to wake early for their prayers, so when they leave to go to their chapel, we shall gain their attention.’
‘What about father? He will wake and find you gone.’
Heresuid made an impatient gesture. ‘Let me worry about him.’ She led her daughter into the shade of the trees around the perimeter and pulled her down to the cold ground. ‘We w
ill remain here. Come close, let me hold you near to keep you warm.’ She embraced Esma and they huddled together, cold and hungry, to wait for the sound of the bell tolling.
The two women spoke little during the long night hours, as there was little to converse about. Occasionally they would speak when Esma felt a small movement, but otherwise they remained silent, listening to the sounds and the movements of the night.
Eventually, the sound of a solitary bell broke the night air. Heresuid was quickly on her feet and stood again at the gate, her hands gripping the iron bars. She looked expectantly at the door, waiting for it to open to see the procession of sisters file their way towards the small chapel that was adjacent to the main building. Esma came and stood by her side and they both watched in silence.
For the next hour, there was no movement. She imagined that the nuns had entered the chapel through a connecting door inside the building and that they would have to either continue to wait for the sisters to commence their daily work, or be forced to return to the village and face the wrath of her father. For this, Aelrid would hasten his daughter’s wedding to Garrett and she would be lost to the world.
Just as Esma felt ready to admit defeat and that her mother’s plan had failed, they saw the oak doors slowly open and the Abbess appeared, leading the sisters in order of seniority.
Heresuid shouted out aloud, calling to the filing nuns. The Abbess and her sisters looked towards the gate at the two women, who were both rattling the iron gates, waving their arms and demanding attention. The Abbess then beckoned a young nun from the back of the column, spoke to her and signalled to her to approach the gate.