by June Francis
Not long after they left the lodging house and crossed the great court with the other travellers, and partook of the sacrament. Felicia had been surprised at how willingly Joan had been to accompany her. She had thought she would protest after her words the night before about no longer believing in a good God. After Mass they went to supper. There were eels in a rich creamy herb sauce, mutton with onions and barley, and small woodland strawberries topped with cream.
When supper was finished, Edmund drew Felicia aside, leaving Joan and Dickon to walk on ahead. ‘I would speak with you a moment.’ He led her into the shadow of a towering buttress of pale stone. ‘If you are willing still, we shall we be married in the morning before we leave for Chipbury?’
Felicia could not see his face clearly, but she thought she detected a tender note in his voice and it made her heart melt. ‘I am willing,’ she whispered. ‘Rather you than Philip,’ she added, in case he might consider her too eager. She had not forgotten his calling her a wanton witch.
‘Not much choice,’ he said dryly. ‘Were you never betrothed, Felicia? I would have thought some knight would have asked for your hand before now.’
‘Once,’ she murmured. ‘I was five years old, and he died of a fever. You have no idea how cross I was with the poor boy!’
‘And no one since? That surprises me.’
‘With my mother dead, my father was in no rush to marry me off.’
‘Understandable.’ He smiled.
She returned his smile and whilst he did not touch her, yet she felt almost as though he was holding her. If not by strength of arms, then by a strange singing magnetism that seemed to stretch between them. It snapped suddenly as she felt cool air at her ankles, as if a door had been opened and shut.
‘We must go,’ she whispered.
He nodded, and they parted in the hall. Nerves twisted in her stomach as she neared her apartment. She must tell Joan her news tonight. The door opened before she touched it, and Joan stood framed in the doorway, with the glow of candlelight behind her.
‘Flissie, I thought you would never come!’ Joan’s face was screwed up with weariness. ‘I could not settle to sleep without you and in the morning we shall be leaving for Chipbury so we must rest.’ She seized Felicia’s arm and pulled her into the chamber.
‘In the morning,’ Felicia began, clearing her throat, as she moved over to the bed, unfastening her surcote. ‘I am marrying Edmund de Vert.’ She sank on the bed, deeply conscious of the words she had just spoken. She was committing herself to a man who had abducted her. A physician, born on the wrong side of the blanket, who had not yet gained his inheritance. Was she mad?
‘You are jesting, Flissie. Say you are jesting!’ Joan’s lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears as she pressed a hand to her breast. ‘You lied to me! You told me you weren’t lovers!’
Felicia’s fingers quivered as she removed her surcote and placed it at the bottom of the bed. ‘I told you the truth.’
Joan placed a hand to her head and rubbed it slowly. ‘How can I believe you? It is not like you to be marrying a man you barely know.’
‘I have decided it would be sensible for me to have a husband after hearing what you had to say about Philip’s threats against me.’
Joan sank onto the bed, pleating her skirts nervously and staring wide-eyed at Felicia. ‘So it is my fault.’
‘I did not say that!’ cried Felicia.
Joan sniffed back tears. ‘It seems that everyone is in love with you, and nobody loves me. Even the lute-player looks fondly on you.’
Joan’s tone was so pitiful that Felicia was moved to sit beside her and put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Joan, you are mistaken. Shall I tell you the full truth of how it came about that I met Edmund and why Philip believed I had a lover?’
‘Please,’ murmured Joan.
‘Philip had Sir Gervaise de Vert and his sons killed and took his castle and lands. As an act of revenge Edmund abducted me from the castle, believing Philip and I were lovers. I did not know at the time that Edmund was Sir Gervaise’s natural son but he told me of his mother’s sufferings at Philip’s hands and I believed him. Yet still I was determined to escape from him and try to reach Meriet for I was concerned about you.’ Felicia paused. ‘Anyway, I did escape from Edmund, only to be captured by Philip’s men who took me back to the castle. Philip could not understand how I had escaped in the first place because I made no mention of Edmund’s abduction of me and he had it fixed in his head that I had a lover.’
Joan lifted her head and stared at Felicia. ‘What happened next? How come you escaped Philip after being recaptured?’
Felicia sighed. ‘Philip was hell-bent on bedding me, but I stabbed him with my scissors and escaped, only to bump into Edmund. It was due to him I managed to flee the castle. As he was heading south, he decided to help me reach Meriet.’
Joan frowned. ‘Why did you not tell me all of this earlier? I find your tale difficult to accept. You would wed a man who abducted you? Can he be any better than Philip?’
‘He is!’ Felicia nearly shouted the words. Her cousin scanned her face with round, incredulous eyes. ‘The marks on my cheek are nearly gone now,’ Felicia lowered her voice. ‘Philip hit me. You know from experience how cruel he can be. Edmund never treated me so—so unkindly ... roughly, maybe.’ She blushed.
Joan drew away from her. ‘He has bewitched you,’ she said slowly. ‘As a physician he knows about herbs, potions and lotions. I deem he has given you a love potion. That is why you are prepared to wed him. He is just like Philip and wants your lands.’
‘No!’ Felicia rose to her feet. ‘He thinks to protect me from Philip by giving me his name.’ She walked slowly over to the window, and looked out and thought she saw movement in the shadows.
Joan slid off the bed and came over to her. ‘He lusts after you.’
Felicia turned swiftly. ‘I do not deny that he wants me. As for that lute player as you call Dickon, it seems to me that he has much sympathy for you.’
‘I doubt I will ever be able to trust a man again,’ said Joan in a strained voice. ‘I was in love with Philip not so long ago. He is a handsome devil, don’t you think?’
Felicia nodded. ‘I, too, fancied myself in love with him once but that was before I grew to know him better. He is, as you say, a devil.’ She paused. ‘I think it best if we do not talk about him anymore.’ She put out a hand and would have led her cousin to bed, but Joan moved away.
‘I fought him in the end,’ she said softly. ‘I scratched and kicked. But he would have choked the life out of me if I had not submitted.’
‘Joan, please!’ Felicia stepped forward and held out a hand beseechingly. ‘You distress yourself. You must try and put him out of your mind. At Chipbury there will be much to do to occupy our thoughts and hands.’
‘Forget? He set fire to your bed, saying he wished you were in it. He will not allow either of us to forget him. He haunts me night and day.’ She walked past Felicia, and drawing back the covers, she climbed into bed and shut her eyes.
Felicia shuddered, wishing she could ignore what Joan had just told her. But she feared that just like her cousin, Philip would haunt her dreams. She went down on her knees and prayed that would not be so for either of them. Then she slid beneath the covers, snuffing the candle before she lay down. But it was a long time before she slept.
It was still cool when Felicia woke. Light filtered through the shutters, turning the shadows in the corners of the room pale lavender. Gradually it pearled and creamed as she lay there, watching and thinking.
Joan shifted in the bed, pulling the covers from her. Felicia grimaced but made no effort to retrieve them. She rose and went over to the wash stand. She poured water into the basin before dragging her under-gown down to her waist. If she had nothing fresh to wear for her wedding, at least she could be clean underneath. By the time Felicia had finished and was fastening her gown, Joan had woken.
‘Will he still be leaving
you, now that you are marrying him? You would rather he stayed, wouldn’t you?’ said Joan, staring at her.
‘He won’t.’ Felicia turned and went over to the bed, picking up her surcote. She slid her arms into the brown linen sleeves. ‘Do you not understand? Edmund and Dickon are going to join the Lord Edward. Not only because Edmund wants the help of the Prince, but to seek out Philip and kill him.’
‘But they are not trained knights.’ Joan’s fair brow creased in bewilderment.
Felicia sighed in exasperation. ‘That doesn’t say they cannot fight. Edmund is skilled in the use of sword and dagger. As for Dickon, he is a burgess of the town where he lives, having a say in its government. He would be a leader if it was attacked—or if there are riots in the streets.’
‘I did not realise,’ said Joan slowly, sliding from the bed.
Felicia began to un-braid her hair. Joan touched her arm. ‘Would you like me to comb your hair out for you? Are you going to wear it loose?’ Her voice was suddenly animated. ‘Would you like me to gather some flowers? I could form them into a garland.’
Felicia was pleased at the change in her. ‘I would like that! It would make me feel a little more festive.’
‘I shall get dressed and go, then,’ said Joan eagerly, reaching out a hand for her surcote. ‘I shall not be long.’
She was as good as her word and soon returned, clasping yellow and purple flowers in her fist. ‘Are they not pretty?’ she murmured, holding them out. ‘I think I almost prefer meadow flowers to those that grow in gardens.’
‘Yet still I like working in a garden,’ said Felicia, smiling.
‘So do I.’ Joan sat down on a stool and began to twist and weave the stems of the flowers. ‘You have combed your hair out yourself. It is a pretty colour.’
‘Not as pretty as yours,’ responded Felicia, peering through a strand of dark hair. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen hair the colour of yours. Yesterday I saw a man whose locks were the shade of minted gold. But yours is the colour of barley. It is truly your crowning beauty.’
Joan blushed with pleasure. ‘It is the same colour as was my father’s hair when he was young. Sadly Mother told me that she did not like it and much preferred dark haired men.’ A shadow crossed her face and her fingers faltered.
For an instant Felicia thought she was going to toss the flowers aside as her fingers crushed several dainty heads. Then, after a few moments, Joan began to work busily again until she had finished her task. She bade Felicia sit, and carefully placed the garland on top of her head.
‘The sun was beginning to melt the dew as I gathered the flowers. I think that perhaps you will need to go soon.’ Joan stepped back and gazed carefully at Felicia. ‘You will do.’ She turned away and went over to the window. ‘I shall stay here until we are ready to leave for Chipbury.’
‘But I want you with me,’ said Felicia in dismay. She hurried across and put a hand on Joan’s arm. ‘I need you at such a time. You are my only kinswoman. Do this for me, Joan. Look!’ She held out her hands in front of Joan’s face. ‘See how I tremble. Let me comb out your hair. See, there are still some flowers.’ She pointed to the tumble of blossoms on the bed. ‘I want you for my attendant. It will not be an affair of grandeur, my wedding, but let us make it as grand as we can.’
Joan’s face brightened, and she grasped Felicia’s hands. ‘We shall have to make haste, or it will be noon before we are ready and that will never do,’ she said excitedly.
Edmund and Dickon were waiting in the hall by the time they arrived. Edmund had changed, and now wore a surcote of blue linen with wide sleeves edged with fur. His hair was neatly combed, and he had shaved. Felicia’s eyes went to his face in an attempt to find some reassurance there. He smiled. Some of her misgivings fled. ‘I have nothing else to wear,’ she whispered, placing her trembling fingers on his proffered arm.
‘It is of no matter. You are ready?’
Felicia nodded, thinking that she had to trust him; she had no one else.
Edmund pressed her hand. ‘Then let us go.’
Chapter Ten
‘I Edmund take thee Felicia to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for fairer, for fouler, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, for this time forward, till death us do part, if holy church will it order; and thereto I plight thee my troth.’
His words sounded loud in the shaded porch of the church, and so binding. Trepidation surfaced within Felicia, and for a moment, knowing Edmund watched her, she could not speak.
Then the abbot murmured something, and she raised her head and began to repeat hesitantly. ‘I Felicia take thee Edmund to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for fairer, for fouler, for better ... for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to ... to be meek and obedient in bed and at board, for this time forward, till death us do part, if holy church will it order; and thereto I plight thee my troth.’
It was done! She experienced a moment of unexpected relief. Edmund tugged a gold ring from his little finger, and for a moment he balanced it on the palm of his hand. ‘It was given in love by my father to my mother—despite his not being able to wed her. He had been betrothed from the cradle, and could not break it off without great dishonour to his name. I think she would have liked you to wear it.’ He took her hand. ‘With this ring I thee wed ...’ Felicia listened to the familiar words. She had been to many a marriage ceremony, but never had she paid such attention to the solemnity of the occasion... ‘and with my body I thee worship, and ...’ Her fingers trembled beneath his firm hold. So many promises and words tying her to him. He held the ring over the tip of her thumb—‘In the name of the Father’; over her index finger—‘in the name of the Son’; over her middle finger —‘in the name of the Holy Ghost’; and finally he said ‘Amen’ as he slipped it on her third finger. It felt heavy! She touched it lightly with her thumb as he kissed her cool lips before leading her inside the church for the nuptial Mass.
As she waited for the Host, her shoulder touching his, Felicia thought how some might call their wedding clandestine, with no banns read and no father or brother to give her away. There were no gifts from family or friends—and there would be no banquet afterwards, such as her father would have had prepared—but she could have fared much worse, she decided.
Afterwards they went to the abbot’s lodgings and partook of wine and oatcakes, but they did not linger. The morning was getting on, and the journey was before them.
As they rode beneath the arched gatehouse, Felicia placed her hand in Edmund’s belt. She had put herself under his rule now by becoming his wife; nothing could be the same again, and only time would tell if she had acted wisely. For an instant, as her eyes caught Joan’s, she remembered her cousin Philip and his threats. Could Edmund’s name protect her from his fury? He would be doubly angry when he discovered that a de Vert still lived who would challenge him in the courts as well as on the battlefield.
The shadows were lengthening by the time they came to Chipbury. Edmund and Dickon dismounted before helping the women down. Felicia swayed wearily as her feet touched the ground. She was stiffer and sorer by far than she had been the previous day. Edmund steadied her before turning to look at the small manor house.
Here there were no outer walls of defence, only a ditch and an earthen bank sloping up to the house gave some little protection. It was quiet, and there seemed to be no one about. They walked up to the door, which was closed but yielded to Felicia’s hand. She led the way into the hall, pulling off her gloves as she did so, and sniffing. The place stank, and a bone crunched beneath her foot as she walked further into the room. Her heart sank. The walls had not been whitewashed that year, nor had the hangings been taken down and beaten to rid them of dust. The saints only knew when the rushes had last been changed! Annoyance and embarrassment showed on her face as she rested her weight on the back of an oaken chair.
‘A case of while the cat’s away the mice will play, do you th
ink?’ Edmund’s eyes met her frown. ‘It is unlikely that even a visit from your cousin would create this neglect so soon.’ He dusted the seat of the chair with his sleeve, and bid his wife sit down.
‘No. This is not my cousin’s doing,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘But something is amiss. Emma would not allow the hall to become so neglected, otherwise.’
‘Well, I hope you do not expect us to start tidying up, Flissie,’ Joan yawned. ‘I am far too tired.’ She subsided on to a stool and gazed about her with weary eyes.
‘I do not expect you to do anything this day, Joan,’ she replied quietly. ‘But we shall need food, so I must go in search of Emma and Thomas.’
‘I shall come with you,’ murmured Edmund.
‘We must stable the horses too,’ drawled Dickon, straightening up from the table. ‘I suggest we leave Mistress Joan to her solitary rest.’ He smiled at Felicia. ‘I presume the stables are to the rear of the house?’
She nodded and rose to her feet. ‘Aye, that is so, and the buttery and storeroom are also in that direction.’
Joan darted a glance at Dickon’s weary face and that of her cousin, and then looked at Edmund as he opened the door to the rear of the hall and bade Felicia go before him. Joan sprang to her feet. ‘I might as well come with you. There is little to do here while I wait.’
‘You could always fetch a broom and sweep the floor,’ murmured Dickon. ‘If you don’t consider it is beneath your dignity.’
Joan flushed, shook her head and hurried out. Dickon shut the door behind her and went back through the hall to the front of the house to fetch the horses.
Felicia stood by Edmund’s side, listening, identifying sounds. The clucking of a hen, the wind in the trees, the clop of a horse’s hoof, and a noise reminiscent of the buzzing of several swarms of bees. He raised his eyebrows and she shrugged. They began to walk through beds of cabbages and beans in need of weeding. Ahead of them was a field planted with vines that sloped down to the river, which gleamed between the trees in the distance. To the left of them was an orchard, the trees nearly stripped of their blossom. At their right hand loomed a huddle of buildings.