A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  He now knelt on the bed, moving forward, and placed a hand on her leg to prevent escape. She was helpless as he flattened himself onto her, hands and fingers grasping, exploring. His mouth discovered her face, and then her throat as he panted with rising desire. He began to push her dress up, and then tug at his hose, to pull them down, ignoring her pleading. Then, abruptly – as if the sudden realisation of what he was about to accomplish had jolted his conscious – Oswyn dropped his hand. He stood up, hauling up his hose. He looked at Aubrette, his face pale and blank; his eyes lingered on her, immobile in her terror.

  ‘Not with my own bastard,’ he muttered, regretfully. Sighing, he departed the room and returned to the hall, locking the door behind him. Aubrette was imprisoned in her own home.

  She paced the floor – the news that Oswyn was her true father bounced around her head. She wept, she laughed, she cursed, and she berated herself for not realising what now appeared to be so blatantly obvious. Why hadn’t she asked about her natural parents? She wondered now whether her natural mother was still alive. Did she still live in the village? Would she be able to find her? Could she still be alive, and would she recognise her if they faced each other?

  Aubrette spent the remainder of the day in her room. Eventually, Petronella arrived, followed by three servants – one of which carried a tray of food. The tray was set down on a table, while the other two servants began to strip Rowena’s bed before hauling a large chest that contained her clothes from the room.

  ‘Your father, my husband, has decided that you are to remain in here until after my daughter’s wedding. A decision has been made on your future, which you shall learn in time,’ said Petronella, steadily, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Mother—’ Aubrette began.

  Petronella raised a hand to silence her. ‘Do not call me that anymore. I held you on the day you were brought here, and even though my husband did not want you to live with us, it was the one and only time I disobeyed him. I insisted you stay as my baby daughter’s companion. I even loved you as you grew; it was as if you were my own.’ Petronella wandered to the small window and gazed absently out of it. ‘I had always hoped I would give Oswyn more children, a son. A man needs sons.’ She turned to look at her adopted daughter and sat on a chair. ‘It took quite an effort to calm Simon down after the way you spoke to him, but the match is still on. Oswyn has invested too much in this to see it ruined. Sir Simon has agreed that Rowena can keep you with her.’ She saw Aubrette’s eyes lighten with expectancy. ‘You will attend her as her own personal maid. There will be no more sharing a room, no more familiarity; my daughter will be your mistress and you must never forget that. You have been given too much freedom for too many years, which is wholly my fault. I should have not treated you as if you were my own child.’

  ‘Do you or my father know who my natural mother is?’ Aubrette asked, hopefully.

  Petronella shook her head. ‘We never found out.’ She stood up and regarded Aubrette. ‘The wedding will be soon.’ She then turned to the door, followed again by her servants, and locked it on her departure.

  Aubrette sat on her bed and looked at the tray of food, but had little appetite. It had been a day of immense contrasts, having begun with the two girls laughing at Rowena’s meeting with her future husband and ending with Aubrette discovering who had fathered her, before being demoted from adopted sister to subordinate.

  Aubrette wondered what Rowena was feeling. Would she want her sister – her half-sister – with her for support? Had she been told the news and instructed on the ranks they were now to hold? Would she be happy with the situation? If her husband commanded her to regard and treat Aubrette as a servant, she would have no option but to obey. Rowena would become Simon’s chattel, his possession; once that small band of gold slipped onto her finger, any future thoughts, opinions or ideas would have to be disregarded. Her life would be dictated by her husband, and as his wife, Rowena would have no opinion or thoughts of her own. She would rely on Simon for her entire existence.

  ‘That shall never happen to me.’ Aubrette vowed. ‘No man shall rule me.’

  7

  Over the next weeks, from her locked room, Aubrette could hear the sounds outside the door as people came and went in preparation for the wedding. No one thought to come and tell her about it. A servant, who had been instructed not to talk to her, would bring a tray of food in twice a day. Aubrette would look out of her window to see Simon arrive and then depart; she would see her father leave on his daily business and return late in the day; and Rowena ride out for exercise, or spend time with Simon, with a chaperone close by. She would glance up at the window and try to wave to Aubrette, but was reprimanded. They were not to have any contact, verbal or visual, with each other. Both young women would sadly turn away – Rowena to continue her riding and Aubrette to sit on her bed to cry alone.

  Eventually, the day of the wedding arrived. Rowena secretly came to the locked door and exchanged brief words with Aubrette. She explained that guests had been arriving, and that even the king had sent his congratulations to his illegitimate son. He had written to say that he looked forward to meeting his new daughter-in-law when he next arrived in England. Rowena could not hide her excitement at this thought.

  Aubrette felt happy for her sister; she bore her no malice in this unhappy affair, but wished she could see Rowena in her wedding gown. Instead, Rowena described in detail every inch of the gown so that Aubrette could picture it.

  She had then stood at the window to watch the wedding party leave for the church. Even though she tried to focus on the bride, Aubrette could not stop looking at Simon. She could not withhold the anger and dislike she felt for him, though could not deny how magnificent he looked as he led his tense bride by the hand to the waiting carriage. They then set off for the church, with her parents and the guests following behind. They all looked so happy and Aubrette felt envious not to be part of the pageant.

  She sat down heavily on a chair, brushing aside the angry tears that tumbled down her face. For the first time, she regretted her hot words to Simon. Had she bitten her tongue and kept dutifully silent at their first meeting, she would not have had to spend all this time locked away. She would now be in the wedding party, happy, smiling and laughing. Instead, when she next saw Rowena, she would be Lady Fitzroy and would be forced to keep a distance from her. She wished that Rowena would retain some affection for her – if her husband permitted it of course.

  The sounds of the returning party made Aubrette stand and look out of the window again. Simon was grinning broadly, calling to others with jocularity about the sport he would participate in that night. Rowena, however, looked pale and afraid as she entered Romhill on the arm of her new husband. Oswyn and Petronella, following behind, both looked extremely pleased at the union that the marriage had created.

  Aubrette could hear the festivities from the hall, which went on long into the night. A tray of food from the wedding banquet was brought to her, and even though she pleaded with the servant, she was not allowed to leave her room – not even to glimpse the newly married couple from afar.

  Later, she heard Rowena being brought to the room opposite. She could hear the women who were attending her sister laughing together, but could not hear Rowena’s voice. She imagined her sister was feeling afraid of the night ahead. Rowena had confided to her that she was dreading this first night – not knowing what her new husband would expect from her. Petronella had instructed her to be compliant, obedient and submissive, and to not complain of any pain as her husband took his pleasure on her.

  The women departed, calling good wishes for the new bride. Their voices faded as they returned to the hall, and then there was silence. After a pause, she heard the sound of one set of feet as Simon came to the room. Aubrette, with her ear pressed to the door, could hear the creaking of the stairs as he ascended and crossed the balcony with alcohol-induced heaviness.
She heard the door open, then close, and faint muffled conversation before another silence. She then heard Rowena cry out in pain. Aubrette needed little imagination to know what was occurring and wanted to be with her sister to comfort her. The distressing sounds and Simon’s voice, loud and contemptuous of his new wife’s feelings, continued and Aubrette crawled into her bed, pulling the pillow over her head, not wanting to hear any more.

  She awoke with a start as someone climbed into the bed beside her. It was Rowena, who now pulled the sheets up to her chin, turned to Aubrette and hugged her.

  ‘How did you get in?’ asked Aubrette, delighted.

  Rowena lifted up the heavy key that had been used to lock the door. ‘I know where father keeps it and I found a servant to bring it to me. As Lady Fitzroy now, I can make commands like that. Oh, Aubrette, it was horrible last night. He kept hurting me and made me do unnatural things to him that made him laugh. I had to satisfy all of his animal lusts.’ She grieved and began to cry into her hands.

  Aubrette held her sister close. ‘You will become accustomed to it eventually,’ she assured with a false honesty.

  Rowena shook her head sadly. ‘I do not think so. I cannot make myself like the things I had to do. He wanted to put his seed where it should not belong and threatened me if I did not do as he commanded.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper at this revelation.

  ‘Think of it being the way in which you will be able to have a son of your own. Our fa—’ Aubrette stopped herself. ‘Your father will be ever so pleased with you when you give him a grandson.’

  ‘I did not think it would hurt as much as it did. Mother says it will not hurt as much after the first time.’ Rowena sat up quickly, looking towards the door in alarm. ‘I must get back; Simon will waken and want to know where I have been.’ She slipped from the bed. ‘We are still friends?’

  Aubrette nodded smiling. ‘Always,’ she said, reassuringly.

  The girls kissed and hugged before Rowena slipped from the room, locking the door again. Shortly after, Aubrette could hear the sounds of Simon and Rowena’s voices talking. He sounded unappeasable to his wife and soon her distressful sounds could be heard again.

  Later that day, Petronella unlocked the door and came in. A female servant, who carried a pile of plain clothes over her arms, followed her in.

  ‘You will change into these and then you will come and be instructed on your duties,’ said Petronella, unemotionally, indicating towards the clothes, as before avoiding looking into Aubrette’s face, and turned away – this time leaving the door unlocked and open.

  Slowly, Aubrette removed her dress and put on the clothes left for her. These comprised a simple rough petticoat, a dull brown dress and old leather shoes, which were a size too small. It was not what she had been accustomed to – the material itched her skin and was uncomfortable– but there was no other alternative. Her downfall was complete.

  She descended the stairs and entered the hall. Her eyes immediately went to Simon; he stood behind his wife, who sat in a high-backed chair. His face was hard and unsmiling as he regarded her. Rowena also didn’t smile and looked as if she was in discomfort, holding herself rigid in the chair. Lord Oswyn and Petronella, meanwhile, were seated at the table. Petronella went to stand, but her husband put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. Considering there had been a wedding the day before, no one looked particularly happy. Oswyn was the only one to approach. Aubrette looked directly at him, aware that Simon’s eyes had never left her and still followed her as she curtsied.

  ‘Sir Simon and your mistress will be leaving Romhill presently. Until then, you are to go to the servant’s quarters and wait for your mistress to require you,’ he said, briefly and coldly. If this was a calculated attempt to humiliate her further, it was succeeding, she felt utterly powerless to argue over the situation.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Aubrette grudgingly, who turned to follow another waiting servant out of the hall.

  ‘Aubrette,’ called Rowena, beginning again to rise from the chair.

  ‘Silence, wife,’ Simon said, sharply, as he pushed her down hard. She obeyed and sat back, wincing. She lowered her gaze.

  ‘Rowena, still friends forever,’ Aubrette called, hopefully.

  Rowena paled, afraid to speak, and looked up helplessly. Simon glared at Aubrette, exasperated at her forwardness to his wife – his property.

  ‘You will not speak freely to Lady Fitzroy. You are not to look at her. She will instruct you to speak if she requires an answer.’ He growled.

  Aubrette glared back at him, wanting to spit in his face. For a chilling moment, they held the stare and the atmosphere in the hall froze with their mutual dislike. Wordlessly, she turned and followed the servant out of the hall. Simon’s eyes never left her.

  ‘I pity my sister for the brute she has been forced to marry,’ Aubrette threw back over her shoulder.

  As girls, Aubrette and Rowena had frequently visited the kitchen to beg for treats from the cook. They had been so endearing that no one could refuse them anything. Now, she was returning as one of the household and the reception was less than welcoming. Those who had once smiled and tickled the girls now sneered and called Aubrette names. She was a nobody who had thought she could rise above her station, to be better than they were.

  She stood awkward and alone until one of the kitchen maids pushed a besom in her hand and told her to sweep the floor, and to make sure everything was swept away – including the rats that were scurrying across the floor looking for scraps of food. Having never held a besom before, Aubrette slowly began to sweep with small strokes. There were laughs and jeers at her efforts and the kitchen maid snatched the handle away, tutting impatiently, to show her the correct way to sweep with long strokes. Aubrette took the besom back and began to sweep with more success, though there were complaints at the length of time this simple task took her.

  When the time came for the servants to retire, their daily chores completed, there was no bed for Aubrette. She had to sleep beside the hounds, in front of the fire in the kitchen – this being the warmest spot she could find. A scullery maid had attempted to show a hint of friendship, but she was scolded for it. Aubrette’s departure with the new Lady Fitzroy could not arrive soon enough.

  This sad state of affairs remained while Simon organised his return to Oxford with his new wife. Aubrette only left the kitchen to wait upon Rowena; she had been instructed of her duties and was expected to perform them without question. There was a minimum of speech between the two of them – no more nonsensical chatter. Their talk, whenever they got a chance, was sparse and awkward.

  Rowena was not even permitted to confide in her sister about her unhappiness. She had been warned by Simon not to talk about her feelings for him, or how he treated her in the marital bed, to anyone. That was his business and should not be spoken about to the servants – though Aubrette needed no description to know how unhappy Rowena was in those early days of marriage. After she had served her mistress in the evening, Aubrette would retire to a corner to wait for the next command. She was forced to watch Simon come into the room to pay court to his wife, pawing her, making crude sexual advances, to which Rowena could only agree.

  8

  In the courtyard of Romhill, Simon strode from his personal groom to the others in his party. He gave the final instructions for his departure to Oxford, while Rowena stood by watching the busy preparations revolving around her. She felt incapable; completely unsure of what she was expected to say or do here as his wife. Aubrette stood slightly behind her, though neither spoke to the other while Simon was near.

  ‘My lord,’ Aubrette said to Simon as he came to his wife, raising his arm for her to take. ‘Where should I be for the journey to Oxford?’

  He looked at Aubrette with contempt. He intended to separate his wife from this young woman; they had grown up too close and he felt her
continued presence would distract Rowena. She certainly irritated him more than any woman ever had.

  ‘The cart over there is for my servants,’ he muttered coldly, nodding in the relevant direction.

  Aubrette approached the cart. It was already full. The seated men and women refused to make any room and she was forced to find another form of travel.

  Simon’s seneschal saw Aubrette looking lost and grinned at her. ‘Want a ride? My fine steed is at your disposal, your Ladyship,’ he mocked, pointing to a scraggy, bony mule before sweeping into an exaggerated bow.

  She was horrified, but there was no other choice. She could not stay; Oswyn had made it obviously clear she was no longer wanted, and Petronella had ignored her since her outburst at Rowena and Simon’s initial meeting. She reluctantly thanked the seneschal and, after he had sat astride the animal, he pulled her onto its back behind him. It was a mangy animal; its bony spine and hips were angular, uncomfortable and stuck into her.

  Oswyn and Petronella now arrived in the courtyard to see their daughter and her husband leave. Aubrette watched as Petronella and her daughter hugged lovingly while Oswyn, holding the reins of Simon’s horse, talked to him briefly before Simon mounted it. Rowena was seated behind him. The parents both stood back to watch as Simon shouted the command and the retinue slowly began to depart through the gates and out onto the road, which would pass through the village, through the English countryside and eventually onto Oxford.

  In the fields, Esma straightened up to watch the cavalcade pass. Her husband continued working, ignoring the parade. The handsome young man leading the procession was looking ahead, ignoring the workers in the fields, which was usual for visitors arriving and leaving Romhill. Behind him, with her hands gripping his belt, sat Rowena, looking sad and pale. Esma looked for her daughter, who had always been close to her sister, but was surprised by her absence. She looked as the column passed by and noticed that, to her horror, Aubrette was sitting behind a man on an ancient mule further back. The lovely gown was gone, and a serviceable linen cap had replaced the fine wimple. What had gone so horribly wrong?