A Sister's Crusade

Home > Other > A Sister's Crusade > Page 5
A Sister's Crusade Page 5

by Ann Turner


  In the warm kitchen, the maid was surrounded by the other women that worked in Lord Oswyn’s household. The word had spread rapidly to all the servants of the arrival of an abandoned baby, and they all made much of the tiny baby cradled in her arms, all wanting to hold and love her.

  ‘We cannot keep the child here. It’s not a place for one so young,’ the cook said, stoutly. ‘I will speak to her Ladyship. Make a nest by the fire until her future is decided.’

  It was after midnight when the cook woke the kitchen maid, telling her to bring the baby along. The lord and lady had now retired to their private chamber. The cook knew he was taking a chance disturbing them at this late hour, as Lord Oswyn was not known for his patience when disturbed by servants.

  The sentinel standing guard challenged the cook as to why he wanted to speak with the lord and lady. He signalled to the maid, who showed the baby and explained the reason why. He laughed and stood aside with a crude remark. The cook tapped timidly on the bedchamber door and waited. He knocked again and heard Lord Oswyn shout out to the sentinel as to who was interrupting his rest. The guard called back that it was the cook and swung the door open, allowing the servants to enter.

  Petronella sat up, curious to know why her cook was here. He was never allowed to enter her bedchamber for anything. Oswyn had turned over with the intention of returning to sleep. His wife could deal with the problem; if it was about the household, this would be a woman’s concern.

  ‘My lady, I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might like to see what arrived earlier,’ said the cook, pushing the maid towards the bed and holding the baby towards her.

  Petronella gasped and took the baby in her arms. ‘Oswyn, look! It’s a baby!’ she exclaimed. Oswyn grunted a reply without moving, while Petronella moved the blanket aside. ‘It’s a girl and newborn, too. Look, Oswyn!’ she insisted shaking his shoulder. Her husband turned in the bed to look and then turned back, uninterested.

  ‘What is it to do with us?’ he grumbled.

  ‘My lord, the baby was brought to us with this letter.’ Cook held out the sheet of paper.

  Petronella took it and read the contents, blanching as she discovered her husband was the baby’s father. ‘The baby is yours,’ she said, faintly.

  Oswyn turned and snatched the letter from his wife’s hand, briefly scanned the words and glanced at the child. ‘I don’t remember making that,’ he remarked, still uninterested.

  ‘Another one of your bastards,’ she said, bitterly. Oswyn sighed. ‘It seems you can only get one legitimate child from me, but the village girls are easily fertilised with your seed.’

  ‘Then the fault lies not with me, wife,’ he retorted harshly and felt her shudder.

  ‘I have tried everything to give you a child and we now have Rowena. By God’s grace we shall have more.’ Petronella’s voice shook with emotion and Oswyn sat up.

  ‘In six years, one child! In six years, only a girl. I do not call that God’s grace; I call it God’s punishment.’

  Petronella drew a deep breath and held the baby tighter. ‘Then why do you not put me aside and find a fertile woman to give you sons,’ she said, tearfully.

  The cook and the maid both moved back, uneasy at being witnesses to the growing argument.

  ‘Because if I did put you aside, your father would reclaim your dowry, and that grasping husband of your sister would finally get his greedy hands on my estate for his sons. Sons. I am not going to throw away everything I have worked for,’ he snapped. He turned to the sentinel and cook, pointing absently towards the baby. ‘Take it away and leave it out for the wolves.’

  His wife cried out in protest and held the baby tighter. ‘We shall keep the baby and raise her as our own.’

  Oswyn groaned. ‘Petronella, no! How do you know it is mine? There are many horny young bucks out there and as many willing maids ready to have their legs spread in the hay for a moment of pleasure. It’ll be one of theirs. If you want a companion, I’ll get you a small dog of your own.’

  Petronella was not listening. ‘We shall raise her as Rowena’s companion. They can play and learn together, and when they have both grown, she will be Rowena’s maid.’ She gave her husband a quick glance. ‘We will not tell her who her father is. She will know she was abandoned and that we took her in. She is only a few months younger than our own daughter, so they will be close.’

  Oswyn fell back against the pillow, sighing with exasperation. For such a usually frail and bland woman, his wife could be very strong-minded when she decided on a cause to support. ‘Then she shall be raised alongside our daughter, but she will have no special favours. Rowena shall have the first in everything and this one will have what is leftover. When other children follow, they shall have precedence,’ he decreed.

  Petronella looked sceptical. ‘If other children follow,’ she muttered, turning back to the baby. ‘Now, we must think of a name for you, little one. Rowena has a Saxon name, so you must have a Norman name.’ Petronella held the squalling, wriggling baby in front of her and looked intently at her. ‘You shall be Aubrette.’

  Oswyn grunted; it mattered little to him. This baby would be a minor inconvenience and he would disregard it. She would be no more than a servant to his daughter, whatever his wife said.

  The baby, scared and having not been given milk since her birth, began to whimper and sob.

  ‘The little one must be hungry,’ the cook observed.

  ‘Fetch the wet nurse,’ ordered Petronella.

  Oswyn looked incredulously at his wife. ‘No! It shall not have Rowena’s milk!’

  His wife ignored his protest. ‘Aubrette shall be fed after Rowena, not before.’

  ‘It shall be fed after the wet nurse’s sprog,’ he corrected.

  By now, the kitchen maid had hurried from the room, relating to the other curious servants gathered by the door, their lord and lady’s conversation, and then asking the wet nurse to be fetched. After a short time, the nurse entered the chamber and took the baby from Petronella. Oswyn and the cook watched, both now fascinated as she prepared to feed the baby – a procedure that was usually performed in the nursery out of any man’s vision. She sat in a chair and unlaced her nightgown, releasing a breast full of milk. Settling further into the seat, she put the baby to her breast. Aubrette latched on quickly and fed greedily while the wet nurse gently rocked forward and back, softly crooning a lullaby. Content and warm, the baby finally fell asleep, a small trickle of milk dribbling from the side of her mouth.

  In the meantime, the cook had bowed out of the room, suddenly embarrassed, and had taken the curious kitchen maid with him. Watching the wet nurse prepare her ample breast to feed the hungry infant had aroused Oswyn and he now ran his hand under Petronella’s nightgown.

  ‘Let us make a son tonight,’ he murmured in a rare moment of affection, rolling on to his wife and ignoring the other people gathered in the room.

  4

  Esma stood in the entrance hall at the convent, confused and baffled by the news she had just received. She had resigned herself to a life locked away in the convent, away from life in the outside world – even life without seeing her mother again – but the Abbess had announced that she was to be released. She was being allowed to return to her village and to her home. Apparently, the Abbess and her mother had come to an agreement even before her baby had been born. Now she waited, full of excitement, apprehension and anticipation, for her mother to arrive. The realisation that she was going home was beginning to sink in and she could not wait.

  The door was opened by one of the sisters and, for the first time since giving birth to her baby, Esma saw her mother. The two women flew into each other’s arms, thankful to be with each other again. They both talked at the same time; there was so much that Heresuid had to say to her daughter and Esma wanted to tell her mother of the daily routine and her
chores in the convent.

  The Abbess approached them, smiling at the sight of the reunion. ‘Esma has been a welcome member of our close family,’ she said, benignly, ‘but I think we all know that she does not truly belong here. She will lead a more purposeful life in the outside world and I bless her for her future life.’

  Esma went to the Abbess and hugged her, surprising the older woman with the warmth of her feelings. ‘Thank you for all that you and the sisters have done for me,’ She said, kissing the Abbess on the cheek. She blushed.

  ‘Go forth and live your life, and never forget us,’ the Abbess answered, laying a hand on Esma’s head in blessing. ‘If you ever hear God’s voice calling you in the future, you shall be welcomed here.’

  Esma turned to sister Angelina, who was attempting, but failing, to hold back tears. They held each other in a fond embrace, having found a comradeship together, before smiling. Esma then took her mother’s hand and they walked from the convent, through the heavy iron gates and back towards the village.

  Did the Autumn sun feel warmer today? Did the brambleberries on the roadside bushes look plumper, juicier and riper? Esma did not know, but felt true elation at being back in the world in which she belonged.

  At first, their conversation deliberately avoided any mention of the baby. Neither really wanted to be the first to mention what had become of the child that Esma had known so briefly.

  It was Heresuid who finally opened the subject. ‘Have you ever wondered what became of your daughter?’ she asked.

  A frown crossed Esma’s face. ‘At first I did, but you told me a family had been found for her.’

  Heresuid smiled. ‘I did. I took her to Romhill and begged Lord Oswyn to take her in as he is her father. I have never seen her since and do not know what name the child goes by, so I cannot say where she is there, but I know she will be fed and cared for.’ Heresuid watched her daughter’s reaction with delight. ‘I expect she has been adopted by servants that live there. She’ll have food and a roof over her head.’

  The small home where Esma had grown up appeared smaller and meaner to her as she crossed its threshold and looked around. The familiar smell of animals invaded her nostrils, the cooking pots still hung on the wall, the clay cups and plates stood on shelves, and a pot with a broth bubbled steadily over the low fire. In the second room was her parent’s bed and, in the corner, still half hidden by the patched-up curtain, was her own bed, waiting for her return. In an instant, it was as though Esma had never been away. Heresuid bustled around, fetching a cup of ale and some food for her daughter as a celebration for her return. Neither spoke about the return of her father – a pleasure that would occur later in the day.

  Aelrid returned home later that evening. He stopped abruptly in the doorway when he saw Esma sitting at the table, chopping carrots to go in the potage.

  ‘Well, look what the wind has blown in,”’he sneered, unkindly. ‘Lighter of a bastard, I see. What happened? Found a gullible family to load it on then?’

  Before Esma could reply, Heresuid answered for her, ‘Our daughter has returned, husband, can you not even pretend to be glad to see her? She told me the child was born dead and is buried somewhere in the woods. Esma had nowhere else to go; she has come home a penitent woman, wiser for her foolish behaviour, and wants your blessing.’

  ‘Then she can want. I’ll not bless a whore like that,’ he answered.

  Heresuid stood firm. ‘Like it or not, our daughter has returned. Even if you are not pleased, I am. She has learnt her lesson and will be an obedient daughter to you now.’ She took the carrots from Esma and threw them into the pot, stirring the potage fiercely.

  Aelrid looked at his wife’s back and then at his daughter, sitting quietly at the table. ‘The day you walked out of here, you became dead to me. You think you can just stroll in and expect everything to be the same as before, do you? Heed this, my girl: now you have dared to darken my door, I shall find you a husband and whoever he is, you will go to him willingly. Your mother is a fool to welcome you back; do not expect such delight from me.’ He put his face close to his daughter and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. ‘Dead.’

  ‘Yes, father,’ Esma replied, casting down her eyes.

  Heresuid flared at him, her voice sharp with fury, ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘My home, my rules. And if you do not like it, you can get out too.’

  ‘Then who will darn your clothes? Who will prepare your food and work by your side?’

  His hand came stinging down across her face. ‘There are plenty of willing women out there for me.’

  ‘Then go and find one!’ she fired back.

  Aelrid cursed the two women and stormed out.

  Heresuid grinned and touched the side of her face, wincing. ‘He’ll get used to your return,’ she assured, though Esma now doubted the decision made between her mother and the Abbess. Life in the convent would have been hard, but it was fair and, apart from the endless praying, she had been growing accustomed to life behind its gates.

  As always, Heresuid was right. Aelrid eventually returned and, though he did not speak to his daughter more than was necessary, he accepted her return. Esma’s return to work the fields was greeted with mild interest; no one questioned her absence and she worked hard alongside her parents. When Lord Oswyn rode through his estates, she avoided looking directly at him and bowed her head – purely so that she did not have to look into his arrogant face. Her hatred of the man was, however, mingled with a curiosity about her daughter’s welfare at Romhill.

  As he had threatened, Aelrid soon found a husband for his daughter. Earic was not considered an excessively violent man, so Esma counted herself lucky to be bound to him. The wedding brought the villagers together to celebrate. As the day progressed, to Esma’s dismay, Lord Oswyn rode into the village. His appearance was not unexpected, and she knew she could not escape the night to come.

  ‘I have come to bless this union, and to desire the couple a long and fruitful marriage,’ he announced, still mounted on his horse. He turned his attention to Esma and Earic, and held out his hand to her. ‘Come with me, girl,’ he commanded.

  Esma looked around at the expectant faces; everyone knew the custom and that she could not refuse. Even Earic was pushing her towards him.

  ‘Get this night over and we shall have our lives together after,’ he urged.

  There was nothing Esma could do. She could not refuse the behest, so allowed herself to be pulled onto the horse, and watched her new husband standing alone, helpless, as she was ridden away to Romhill and the waiting goose bed.

  Once there, they passed through the gates in silence to a side entrance, where a groom was waiting to hold the horse. Oswyn dismounted, turning to lift Esma down.

  ‘Follow me,’ he instructed and led the way in as she trailed obediently behind.

  They ascended a flight of stairs and passed along a corridor until they arrived at a locked door. Oswyn selected a large iron key from a ring attached to his belt, turned it in the lock and led her in. The room looked exactly as other brides had described, with the laden table, the fire in the hearth and the enormous goose bed. Esma felt her stomach churning in fear at the sight of the locally famous bed. He poured and handed her the cup of wine, which she drunk – tasting and savouring the delicious, unfamiliar flavour roll around in her mouth. Its intoxicating effect made cheeks glow, and she began to giggle uncontrollably.

  ‘Undress,’ he ordered, sitting in the chair.

  Slowly, as the wine had addled her senses, Esma unlaced her dress, letting it fall in a heap around her feet. She pulled the underskirt down and peeled the woollen stockings from her legs unsteadily until, finally, she stood naked. She was not sure where to put her hands until he rose to his feet.

  ‘Remove my clothing,’ he commanded, extending his arms. Esma obeyed. Once
he stood unclothed, he put his hands on her head and pushed her to her knees, close to his groin. ‘How does that look to you, girl? Have you seen a rampant cock before? Have you touched one?’ Esma kept her eyes firmly shut, feeling his manhood, with its own life, twitch and brush hard against her face, ready for her. ‘Touch it, feel it,’ he said and quivered with pleasure as she obediently closed her hands around it and stroked it, feeling it react to her touch.He pulled her up and lifted her into his arms, before carrying her to the goose bed.

  Esma became scared. Would he realise that she was not untouched and had been entered? Would he remember that it was he who had enjoyed her body that winter’s day? The mattress was luxurious and soft, and Esma felt the wonderful sensation as she sank onto it. Lord Oswyn straightened up and his eyes and hands ran the length of her body.

  ‘Do you like what you see, my lord?’ she asked, timidly.

  His eyes focused on her belly. ‘You look as if you have experienced a man inside you before. Are you pure?’

  Esma blushed. ‘I was ravished by a man and bore him a bastard child that was born dead. He and my husband know nothing of it,’ she replied.

  He raised his eyebrows, but still had no recollection of the event in the stable. ‘So I am not the first. Enjoyed it, did you?’ His voice sneered with derision. Yes you were. Esma’s inner voice screamed. ‘I shall still have you before your husband.’ He mounted her, with no further word. He pushed her legs apart and held her arms above her head, preventing any chance of escape as he came into her. She lay there, powerless to resist and unable to move, feeling his perspiring body undulating.

  The unpleasantness was quickly over and he stood up afterwards, reaching for a wrap. ‘My groom will be here in the morning. Be ready for him,’ he said, blandly. Picking an apple from a dish on the table, he departed the room, leaving Esma to lie in the goose bed. She was finally able to enjoy the pleasurable sensation of the softness of this famous mattress and the delightful silkiness of the sheets caressing her. She extended her arms and legs across the mattress, sighing in pure delight, and then, bunching her body tight, turned onto her side, and pulled the sheets around her.

 

‹ Prev