A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  Looking around, and not listening to Earic’s questioning, Esma went to the side of the field and quickly picked a small bunch of wild flowers. She then hurried back to the procession, catching up to the man and woman on the mule. At first, the seneschal swore at Esma and kicked out at her, not making contact. Aubrette looked, not recognising the woman, as she held the flowers up to her.

  ‘Take these for the mother you never knew, but who thinks of you every day,’ she said. Aubrette took the flowers, puzzled. ‘You knew my mother?’ she asked.

  Esma smiled, keeping in step with the mule’s steady pace. ‘I am your mother. You are my daughter, who I was forced to give up,’ she said. Esma stopped to let the party continue forward.

  Aubrette was stunned into silence. She turned on the back of the mule as they went forward and kept looking at Esma until she had vanished into the distance. Finally, and so quickly, she had learnt the truth about her mother, and now it was too late. Aubrette was leaving Romhill and she would never have another chance to talk to her mother or learn more about her.

  Esma also stood watching until her daughter had disappeared into the distance. Sadly, knowing she would never see her again, she returned slowly to the field. Close by, her sons were playfully messing around, instead of working their patch of field. They were reprimanded by their father, who in turn scolded Esma for deserting her work to speak to a nobody from the house. He threatened a beating when they returned home that night. Esma just smiled sadly; he could beat her, but it would make no difference to how she was feeling now. Earic would never know she had had a child before they had married. She must forget her daughter, she was gone now, and now, Esma must focus on her sons. They were now her life, her future.

  9

  The party stopped to rest for the night and tents were erected. The most luxurious belonged to Simon and Rowena. Aubrette, however, was one of the unfortunate ones who had to sleep in the open around a campfire. A group of the servants sat alongside her around the damp logs, which were spitting, steaming and hissing as their flames pitched and gutted. The women gossiped, quietly criticising Simon, while the men described in detail what they would do to his pretty young wife if they got her alone. Aubrette moved aside, not wanting to hear the vulgar talk about her sister. Instead, she would go to where the horses were tethered and pet them, separating herself from the coarse language.

  As for Rowena, she and Simon could be heard long into the night with their coming together, arousing emotions in the servants. They would pair off and hurry to hide behinds bushes or up against trees to indulge in their carnal desires. Aubrette managed to avoid being dragged away, keeping herself untouched, abhorring their loose morals.

  The next morning, Rowena emerged from her tent, still looking mournful. Aubrette wanted to throw her arms around her sister to comfort her, but though she was able to help her to dress and brush her hair, she had to remain silent. Rowena, obeying her husband, barely spoke to her.

  It took five days of travelling along roads that were nothing more than dust tracks, fording rivers and, if no grand houses or monasteries were close, sleeping in tents to reach Oxford – a fine city in the heart of England, which was dominated by its castle. The party rode down streets and lanes, passing the townsfolk going about their daily business. Having never travelled so far from Romhill, and only having only seen the village as a girl with her sister, Aubrette could not disguise her curiosity at being in a bustling city. Lord Oswyn had talked occasionally of his visits to towns, even to London, but this was more exciting for the young woman to expierence.

  Simon’s town house was close to the castle – an impressive, sprawling property that Rowena was to become the mistress of. She was intimidated at the prospect of running the household and spent the first days wandering aimlessly through its many rooms. The housekeeper, a kind-hearted woman, who was devoted to Simon, was at hand to advise on the duties expected of her and to organise the servants brought from Romhill, including Aubrette.

  Here, Rowena was able to show more warmth to Aubrette, and some of the old feelings that they had once shared resurfaced. However, they could never be as close as they had been as girls, as they were now mistress and maid. When Simon was close, Rowena had to revert to being distant to her sister again. This state of affairs maddened Aubrette, though it was an improvement to the previous weeks and, when they were able to spend an hour or more remembering the time when they had been so close, she felt as if her life levelled out.

  Eventually, the news everyone had been waiting for was revealed: Rowena was pregnant. Simon paraded around, proudly announcing his ability to sire children within the marriage bed as well as without. His wife, in contrast, was more reticent about the news. She knew about her mother’s lack of pregnancies in so many years of marriage, Rowena had conceived her first child quickly. Maybe it was an omen that she would be more successful and that she would give her husband a fine brood of sons over the years to come.

  Aubrette, meanwhile, regarded Simon with even more distrust. He had thoughtlessly forced himself on her sister every night, with little regard for her feelings. She was his wife, his property. As such, Aubrette would take every chance to vilify Simon to anyone who would listen, knowing her words would be twisted, repeated and spoken eventually to her master, resulting in him summoning her to his private chamber to be castigated severely.

  He would be sat at his table, which was spread with documents, sheets of parchment, writing implements, ink and sticks of red wax. His furious face would be as white as the parchment on the table, his eyes cold, unemotional and full of hate as the words of reprimand spewed viciously from his mouth. There would be threats to beat her, to cast her from his home, though these threats never materialised. He would also threaten to separate Aubrette from his wife, once the child had been born. She caused him nothing but trouble and her presence was not welcome. Aubrette would defiantly hold his gaze, undaunted by him, and answer with impertinence. On dismissal, she would leave the chamber, with her head held high and her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She could swear these encounters exhilarated her. In her now hard life, this ongoing dissension with her master was one of the few events she looked forward to.

  Rowena felt ill. The pregnancy sapped her strength and she became lethargic. All she wanted to do was lounge on her daybed; she showed little interest to the world around her. Aubrette kept talking to her, telling her about life outside the town house, her visits to the busy, noisy market and how the castle could be seen rising above the city on a clear day. Rowena listened, not caring at all.

  As the months progressed, the midwives became concerned for her health. Rowena appeared to be weakening and they feared she might not survive the entirety of the pregnancy or the trial of childbirth. Simon kept his distance, not wanting to be reminded of his wife’s feeble constitution – pregnancy and childbirth was woman’s work. His part in the creation of his future son was complete, as the seed had successfully been planted. He instead found recreation in the company of local whores, sparing little thought for his wife as he cavorted with the merry prostitutes. Rowena told him she did not mind his association with these women, but it was a lie, and she would frequently cry in Aubrette’s arms at the thought of her husband bedding these loose women.

  ‘I am dying,’ Rowena said to Aubrette, ignoring her sister’s denial. ‘It is no use. I am not made to bear children; my first shall be my last. I hope I shall leave my husband a son at least, a healthy son.’

  ‘Don’t speak so,’ scolded Aubrette. ‘You will be fine. You and your son will survive, and you shall go on to give your husband many more sons.’

  Rowena smiled vaguely and stroked Aubrette’s face. ‘Do not try to fool me with words of comfort. I only hope I shall see my boy before heaven receives me.’

  It was no use for Aubrette, as all she tried to say was met by denial. It was as if Rowena had already made her peace with God and n
ow waited for death to claim her without any resistance.

  In her small room, Aubrette raged against Simon for his lack of compassion for his wife. What decent, caring husband would show such an arrogant disinterest? Her heart thumped with anger and she could feel her chest tighten with shortness of breath. Rowena was prepared to give up her life to have his son – he did not deserve her! He found pleasure anywhere and everywhere. He was a heartless, careless brute and he would always be a beast to a woman as gentle as his sweet wife. Out loud, she would rehearse the words she wanted to say to him when she faced him again. She would slap him across his handsome face and spit in his beautiful blue eyes for the suffering he had caused Rowena. Aubrette desired greatly to stand boldly in front of him; the table separating them, he would stand and lean forward, cursing her for the disrespect of her betters. He had more important things to do than waste his time listening to the deplorable bleating of a servant who thought she could argue back with him.

  Aubrette was sitting reading to Rowena as she lay on her daybed one day, when Simon made a surprise visit to his wife. He politely enquired after her health and Rowena, lying, said she was feeling stronger this day and happier for seeing her husband. He grinned as his eyes scanned her swelling belly. Aubrette, who had moved aside at his entrance, stepped forward. Now was her chance.

  ‘My lord, your wife is lying to you. She is not feeling any stronger. She feels unwell, as she has done every day since she discovered she carries your child.’

  Simon barely looked at her. ‘What gives you the qualifications to decide upon my wife’s constitution?’ he replied, coolly.

  ‘Look at her, truly look at her. She is ill and is sure she will die,’ Aubrette argued, pointing at her sister.

  Simon glanced at his wife, refusing to see that which was so obvious. He turned back to Aubrette, his face harsh. ‘If my wife dies, then I shall hold you personally responsible. You are putting these ridiculous thoughts into her head. My wife will give me my son and many more.’ He stopped to draw breath. ‘Think before you speak to me again, for I shall have you evicted from my home. You shall be turned out onto the streets and how long do you think you would survive?’

  ‘Just try,’ tempted Aubrette, boldness taking over.

  Rowena gave a cry of distress, putting her hand on her stomach. ‘No, husband! Do not do that. I cannot think of life without my sister close to me.’

  He turned his eyes on her. ‘So now you think you can command me, too? Have a care, wife. I have raised you to become my spouse and I can send you straight back to your home. What will your father think of you when I return you to him disgraced?’ Rowena fell immediately silent. ‘You owe your life to me; you owe me everything that you have in your life. You have an obligation to me to provide me with sons and heirs. Fail me and you will be sorry for the words you now so recklessly speak. Never forget that.’

  ‘Half-breed,’ hissed Aubrette.

  Simon hustled her from his wife’s presence into the corridor and flung her against the wall.

  ‘Were it not for my wife’s condition and the fact your presence apparently calms her, I would have you whipped and thrown into the cells to rot.’

  ‘Then your wife’s death would be on your hands,’ she answered, quickly.

  They stood face-to-face, intimately close – so close, in fact, that they could have brought their mouths together in a fiery kiss were it not for the vehement animosity that crackled between them.

  ‘Go to your room and stay there until you are required. If I hear that you are distressing Rowena again, whether she is pregnant or not, healthy or not, you shall be sorry you ever spoke to me like that,’ spoke Simon, breaking the charged atmosphere.

  Aubrette felt sure she had heard the slightest tremor in his voice. ‘I curse you, and hope that you get what you deserve.’ She pushed past him to stride to her room, knowing that he watched her departure. She could feel his eyes burning into her back.

  She told herself that if it were not for the deep love she would always hold for Rowena, she would have packed what few belongings she owned in a sack, travelled on the London road to the capital city and made a life there. However, she felt inclined to remain. What puzzled her, though, was that it was not only because of her sister that she stayed. There was something else; something she could not identify; something that excited and intoxicated her without explanation.

  As Aubrette lay on her bed in the silent solitude of her small room, her mind tumbled over her hatred of Simon Fitzroy and his disregard for his wife. He showed no care for her thoughts or feelings, or her sadness at his blatant unfaithfulness. He would always find a fault to berate her with. Suddenly, the images of his physical coupling with other women appeared in front of Aubrette’s eyes in amazing clarity. She shut her eyes tightly, yet the visions were still there. They would not vanish. A thought now exploded into Aubrette’s mind with such force that it scared her and she sat up, gasping for breath, trembling and perspiring. She didn’t loathe him at all; she was lusting after him, and wishing he were making love to her! All this time when she had been rebuking him, hating him for his coldness and his selfishness, she was deliberately taunting him into a reaction. It was a desire so intense that it made her shake. She ached for him; she realised that she wanted to take him from Rowena, to posses every inch of him, to have him in bed, in her. She leant back against the wall, trembling, and attempted to gather her thoughts – to put this absurd idea from her mind. How could she want him? He was glacial and fiery in the same instant, he ignored her, and when he did speak to her, it was with acerbic words. She now realised these words stimulated her, awakening in her a sense of arousal. He was such a lion of a man. He looked the way a man should look; acted and sounded the way a man should.

  Aubrette felt confused and blissfully happy all at once. She had finally admitted to herself the fact that she was in love with that odious man. His words could never hurt her again; instead, she would rejoice whenever he looked at her or spoke to her. She would fantasise about the two of them making magnificent love in silken beds, on grassy hills, behind the tapestries, in delicious secrecy, anywhere, everywhere.

  She sighed. She had to stop these ridiculous fantasies; he was her master, she meant nothing to him. Why would he even notice her when he had Rowena as a wife? Beautiful, delicate Rowena. Aubrette realised she had been blinded by his handsome countenance and compelling persona, but still these thoughts would not leave her mind in peace. They jostled for position, reminding her that this was the only man she would ever love.

  When Aubrette saw Simon now, she would flush with pleasure and imagine them together. He noticed her change of behaviour and it puzzled him. She would linger in the room instead of departing, and that sullen expression had been replaced with a softer face – even a small enticing smile. He realised, too, that their arguments had lessened. Finally, she is learning her place, thought he. For now, he would tolerate her presence. However, once the child was safely born and his wife was absorbed in its care, he would quietly have her sent away.

  He would visit his wife to ask after her health and proudly look at her swelling belly as the child inside grew. Rowena was still unwell; she was a woman who would never revel in a trouble-free pregnancy. Simon hoped to be the father of many sons and maybe a few daughters too – they had their uses as bargaining pawns, after all – yet the physicians had warned him that his wife was unlikely to have another child. The union he had entered into with the Redfearn family could have been a mistake. He should have realised it when he discovered that his future wife was an only child. She had come from a barren mother that lacked fertility.

  He had been foolishly enticed by Rowena’s dowry and the prospect of owning Romhill when Oswyn died. Although it was not in a strategic position for the defence of England, or even on the coast to repel raiders from the continent, it was a good-sized slice of Essex countryside – close enough t
o London or Winchester, where the court often resided, and was no more than a few days ride to Dover where one could cross to Normandy. There was also much potential for him to build, to make his mark and improve the estate for his son and future generations. Romhill was to become the ancestral home for the Fitzroys. In the distant future, his descendants would revere and bless his memory as the founder of their lineage, as the father of the powerful Fitzroy family.

  10

  No one could explain what had happened, or why. There had been no reason why the child had come too early and was born lifeless. The labour had been long; Rowena had given up hope of life, yet she had survived and was left to live without her son. Aubrette had stayed by her side for the duration of the labour and birth, holding her hand and comforting her through to its heart breaking conclusion. Simon had been conspicuous by his absence, though he had been kept informed of what had happened. Not once had he enquired after his wife’s health during her early confinement; not once had he come to see his wife after the birth to mourn the loss of their son, to take her in his arms to comfort her and ensure her of his affection for her still. He had instead sent an abrupt message of condolence. This had infuriated Aubrette; it was his loss too, or had he so quickly forgotten? A dead son was no use to him, so there was no reason for him to grieve.

  Eventually, in the early hours of the following morning, as the sun was beginning to rise on a new day, Aubrette returned to her small room. The midwife had assured her that Rowena would sleep, and that she would stay with her to guarantee her mistress was not left alone. All she could see in her mind was the moment the boy had been born. He had been silent, floppy like a doll, and had never taken a single breath of air. She could still hear Rowena’s howling echoing in her mind. She sounded like a dying animal, appealing to God to spare her son, to make him open his eyes and live, and to take her instead – but God did not listen.