by Speer, Flora
Thomas soon had cause to ask the same question, for Selene, once roused from her month-long torpor, flung herself into frantic activity. She joined every hunting party that set out from Afoncaer, riding as though the devil himself sat behind her, and when no hunting was planned she rode alone with only a servant or two and a squire, despite Thomas’s reservations.
“Remember the Welsh,” he said. “It’s not safe to go too far from Afoncaer until we are certain there will be no revenge for those we hanged.”
“I’m not afraid of the Welsh.” Her voice was strained, as though she was trying to convince herself.
“Stay at the castle, Selene. You never see Deirdre any more. Days go by—”
“Deirdre has Arianna.”
“I don’t understand. First you cling to the child, then you ignore her.”
“She doesn’t need me.” She could not explain to him her fear that Deirdre, the one creature she loved more than herself, might be contaminated by her evil. Better to stay away from the child altogether and thus keep her safe. Selene fled from Thomas to the chapel, the other place where she spent her time.
If her days were divided between horseback and fervent prayers that her traitorous deeds might never be discovered, Selene’s nights were devoted to passionate encounters with Thomas. They had slept apart during her long illness, but no longer. She began to ration most carefully the tiny remaining portion of Gwenefer’s medicine. Before it ran out she had to bind Thomas to her so thoroughly that he would love and defend her no matter what anyone might discover about her part in the Welsh attack. She diluted the medicine with wine, swishing it around the small earthenware vial to mix in every available drop of the stuff, then peered into the vial. So little was left. What would she do when it was gone? Selene considered the long years ahead of her, nights spent with Thomas, and shuddered at the thought of childbirth. She had to make the liquid in the jar last as long as possible. Gwenefer had warned her it was very strong, that more than the recommended amount would harm her. Perhaps she could use less of it, to make it last longer. Selene began to take the medicine every other day.
Through the autumn Arianna watched and wondered at Selene’s odd, secretive manner, and did not know if she felt greater pity for her or for Thomas. The old friendship between herself and Selene was broken, their relationship held together only by the tenuous ties of distant kinship. Selene had shut Arianna out of her heart along with everyone else, and seemed now to live in some strange, tightly enclosed world of her own making, where Arianna could not follow.
“Leave me alone,” Selene said to every suggestion Arianna made for joint activity. Selene was not interested in making a new perfume in the stillroom, although she had once enjoyed that, nor did she want to help Arianna count the linens and decide which needed mending, or cut out a new gown for the seamstress to sew for her, or do anything at all in the kitchen. “I have my own concerns, Arianna. Leave me alone.”
Into the lonely void Selene’s withdrawal left came Blanche, Kenelm’s new wife, who was Arianna’s own age. She was shy at first, making tremulous overtures toward friendship as though afraid to overstep her position. But she was always there to help when help was needed in that busy harvest season, not too proud to roll up the linen sleeves of her underdress and tie on an apron and lay down fruits in honey or baste the side of beef turning on the spit. Before Blanche had been at Afoncaer a month, she had quietly assumed most of Joan’s old duties, freeing Meredith from long hours in kitchen and laundry.
“What a well-trained housekeeper she is,” Meredith said. “What a relief to me.”
“And funny,” Arianna added. “She makes everyone laugh. She says good humor improves good food.”
“So it does.” Reynaud had overheard them and looked up from the parchments he had spread across the high table. “Her food is marvelous, a delight to the tongue and palate. I notice Sir Kenelm growing plump and contented. It must be the gingerbread.”
The two women laughed, for Blanche had brought with her the recipe for the new delicacy, flavored with spices carried to England from the distant east beyond the Holy Land. Kenelm relished the tasty treat and Arianna thought he doted upon the pretty wife who saw to it he had his fill of his favorite food.
“Blanche is a fine needlewoman, too,” Meredith said, putting an arm around Arianna as they walked toward the stillroom. “A good thing, that, considering our joint lack of talent.”
“I wish Selene were only half as agreeable as Blanche. For Thomas’s sake.”
“She’s not and never will be.” Meredith glanced at her companion, a shrewd look, seeing much that Arianna would have kept hidden. “Thomas must make his own accommodation with his wife, and we must stand aside and leave him be. You have done well, Arianna. You’ve not given in to the temptation his difficulties with Selene, or her illness, have offered to you. I’m proud of you.”
Arianna, considering the striking contrast between the two couples, could only worry about Thomas.
There came Kenelm to the great hall each midday, sleek and well fed, his short black hair smooth and shiny, easy laughter on his lips. And there was Blanche, dimpled and bright-eyed, directing the serving girls with the trays of food. They were both discreet, no sign of affection ever passed between them before others, yet contentment lay upon Kenelm and Blanche for all to see.
Meanwhile, in her place at the high table Selene sat cold and withdrawn, Thomas, overly thin and grim of mouth, beside her. And between them lay the suggestion of half-slumbering passion that drew Thomas’s eyes to Selene’s beautiful, indifferent face again and again, made him touch her hand where it lay on the table, made everyone around them uncomfortably aware of Thomas’s desire for her. Arianna wondered how anyone could endure the pain in Thomas’s eyes, and wished she could do something to help him.
No sooner was the harvest gathered in than the storms began. Weeks of heavy rain and sleet, and an early snowfall, put a temporary end to hunting and to Selene’s daily rides.
“It’s just as well,” Meredith said when they were snowed in just before Christmastide. “Selene won’t sit a horse again until next summer is nearly done. Thomas won’t allow her to ride.”
“She’s with child?” Arianna felt a cold chill at the pit of her stomach, remembering how difficult had been Selene’s last pregnancy, how dangerous her childbirth.
“Look at her,” Meredith replied, “pale, with shadows under her eyes, and not eating in the mornings. I’m not sure she realizes it yet, but yes, Selene is with child again.”
Selene refused to believe her own body’s message. Gwenefer’s medicine, diluted, taken only every other day, was long gone, but how could it happen so soon? So quickly her appetite vanished, her breasts ached, her waistline thickened. And Selene knew, she was absolutely certain, that she would die in childbirth. It would be heaven’s punishment for the terrible things she had done. She lived each day in terror, and under that pressure her temper flared dangerously, as she searched for some outlet in place of the confession she dared not make.
“You did this to me,” she raged at Thomas shortly after the new year began. She could hide her pregnancy from him no longer, and when he came to their bedchamber and put his arms around her she drew back, hating the tenderness she saw in his eyes, resenting his obvious delight at the renewed possibility of a son. “Look at me. Are you pleased with yourself, my lord? Are you proud of your manhood?”
“I am happy to know our love has had this result,” he replied mildly, trying to placate her. “You should be, too.”
“Do you expect me to be pleased that I’ll be sick again for so many months, and swollen out of all recognition, and then at the end of it have to face that terrible pain and very likely die? I nearly died when Deirdre was born; it is a certainty this time. And all for your lust.”
“I love you, Selene. I still love you in spite of your bad temper,” he teased, trying to gentle her as though she were a nervous colt, but she broke away from him, and pick
ed up a wooden cup that stood beside a pitcher of wine, threatening to throw it at him.
“You will not touch me, my lord. Not until long after this child is born. If then. If I live.” Her voice broke in panic.
Thomas reached out and caught her wrist, took the cup out of her hand and set it down again. He kept tight hold on her wrist, drawing her closer to him, all gentleness gone from his manner.
“I am your ruler, madame. You will do as I say at all times.” At the cool anger in Thomas’s voice, defiance flamed brighter in Selene’s green eyes, and her own voice dripped contempt for her husband and his needs.
“Will you deliberately harm your unborn child, my lord? If you lay with me, and I miscarry, it will be your fault. Go and find yourself a serving maid.”
She would not listen to anything he might say, and she struggled, weeping, when he tried to embrace her again. The few words she would speak to him were reproaches about her uncomfortable condition, until Thomas, unwilling to take by force what was rightfully his and thus chance hurting her and the baby she carried, gave up. He lay rigid with anger and utterly defeated on his side of their huge bed, while Selene curled into a ball as far away from him as she could get.
It was the first of many such nights. Selene would have nothing to do with him except to berate him for what he had done to her.
“Consider,” he said to her one morning, forestalling yet another tongue lashing, “that you may bear a male child, the heir to Afoncaer and all the rest of Uncle Guy’s lands. The thought of the honor due to you in that case should rejoice even your proud heart.”
“It is the only thing,” Selene told him, “that keeps me from throwing myself off the castle wall and into the river.”
“Selene!”
“Why not?” she asked, laughing wildly. “Such a death would be quicker, and much less painful than this long, drawn-out torment, and what awaits me at the end of it.”
“You know the church’s teaching on suicide,” Thomas said, horrified, and watched Selene shrug her shoulders.
“I am beyond redemption,” she whispered, very low.
“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you. Speak to me, Selene, tell me you did not mean that terrible threat.”
“Of course I didn’t mean it. I’m too much a coward to take such action. You needn’t fear for your precious son-to-be. Now leave me.” She picked up parchment and ink bottle, preparing to write one of her long letters.
Dismissed like the lowliest of servants, Thomas went searching for Meredith. He found her alone in the stillroom, busy with mortar and pestle, compounding some herbal mixture. Perching on a stool, feeling like the lost little boy he had been when they first met her so many years ago, he poured out his problems to this dearest and most discreet of friends.
“She’s mad,” he concluded. “There is no other explanation for the things she says and does. She was difficult before Deirdre was born, but this is worse. And this time she’s not even sick, Meredith. She was only a little queasy for a few mornings.”
“Where is she now?”
“Shut up in our chamber, writing to her friend Elvira.”
“What, again?”
“I don’t understand it. She almost never writes to Lady Aloise. Why to this Elvira, and twice since last summer?” Thomas ran his hands through his golden hair, disarranging it into a thick, boyish tangle. “I don’t understand anything about her, Meredith. When we were first married, I believed that in time we would learn to be happy together. Now I think Selene doesn’t want to be happy. She fights every opportunity for happiness as though it were a mortal sin.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Meredith promised, “and see if I can reconcile her to this new child.”
Whatever Meredith said to Selene had little effect, and that was quickly lost in the excitement of the announcement that came in mid-February. Meredith, too, was with child, and it would be born a month after Selene’s.
“I can hardly believe it,” Meredith said to Arianna. “After all these years, and so many false hopes.”
“You must be very happy to have another chance to give your husband a son,” Arianna replied.
“Yes, I am.” Meredith’s radiant face confirmed her words. “But Selene is not pleased.”
Selene was in fact jealous, spiteful to Meredith, and cold to both Thomas and Arianna. Worst of all, she continued to ignore the daughter to whom she had once been so devoted, and Deirdre’s care was left completely to Arianna and her helper, Linnet.
Cristin had used to help in the nursery from time to time, but in March, Cristin was sent to another noble family for fostering. She would be gone for at least two years, until it was time to arrange a suitable marriage for her. Arianna missed her cheerful prattle about horses, and hawking, and most of all, about her adored Geoffrey, who had by now been forgiven his passion for Gwenefer and restored to his rightful place in Cristin’s affections.
“She’ll forget him once she meets a few handsome squires,” Thomas said on one of his frequent visits to the nursery. “Geoffrey would not make a good husband for Cristin. He’s grown morose and says he distrusts all women. He’s holed up at Tynant, feeding his dislike of the Welsh. No, Geoffrey is not for Cristin, whatever she thinks. It’s best not to indulge in such youthful passions. They only bring sorrow.” His face was closed and somber as he regarded his sixteen-month-old daughter toddling about the room, followed by Linnet.
“Cristin could always marry Benet,” Arianna said, teasing and hoping to rouse him from painful thoughts. “He’s a good lad, and bright, too.”
“But not well born. Uncle Guy will want to arrange a better marriage than that for his daughter.” Thomas scowled and reached forward to take a wooden doll from Deirdre’s mouth. “She could fall and hurt herself on this, Arianna.”
“Nonsense. It’s perfectly safe.” Arianna removed the doll from Thomas’s hand and gave it back to Deirdre, thus forestalling the child’s threatened tears. “I think it’s time to feed her, Linnet. Would you go to the kitchen and get her food?” After Linnet left, Arianna turned back to Thomas.
“Benet could rise in the world,” she said. “Determined men have done so before. He loves Cristin. That’s plain for anyone to see, and with that inspiration, who knows what he may do?”
“Love is a dream,” Thomas said. “It has nothing to do with marriage. What matters is the strength of a man’s arm when he takes sword in hand, his position in the world, and most of all, his honor. Nothing else.” The deep blue eyes now meeting Arianna’s were full of pain.
“Surely not,” she faltered, knowing only too well what had caused that pain. “There is friendship. You have so many friends, Thomas, and we all care deeply for you.” There was no point in pretending she did not know how it was between him and Selene these days. The entire household knew, probably the whole town, too. Life in a castle allowed little privacy. The only real secrets were the ones people kept locked up in their own hearts.
“Friendship.” Thomas’s hand touched her shoulder. “You have been a friend. Since the first day I met you, you have been nearby, to ease pain and offer comfort. How good you are. How true.” He put his arms around her and held her, and Arianna, realizing there was no passion in it, but only the need for human contact, put her arms around him, too, and held him close in tenderness and the friendship she had spoken of. They stood that way for a long time, while Deirdre played at their feet, and Thomas drew strength from the peaceful atmosphere of that room. After a while he let her go, smiling, holding on to her hands, bending toward her again to kiss her forehead.
It was at just that moment that Linnet reappeared with Deirdre’s meal on a tray. Thomas, still smiling, picked his daughter up, tossing her over his head until she squealed with laughter, then gave her to Arianna. His hand lingered along Arianna’s cheek.
“I thank you, dear friend,” he said, and was gone.
Linnet, returning Deirdre’s empty porridge bowl to the kitchen a while later, told the cook what
she had seen. It took less than half the day for Selene to hear of it. She came to the evening meal hard eyed and icy tongued.
“I hear you are sleeping with my husband,” she hissed, stalking past Arianna on her way to the high table. “Have a care that he doesn’t get you with child, too.”
“You misunderstood,” Arianna cried, knowing well what the latest gossip was, for Blanche had warned her. “We are friends, no more.”
“So were we friends, you and I. Once.” Selene took in Reynaud, standing close behind Arianna. “First a cripple, then another woman’s husband. You are rising in the world with each lover, Arianna. Will it be Guy next, while Meredith’s belly is big?” Selene swept toward the dais and her chair, leaving Arianna too shocked to make any response.
“The woman is filled with poison,” Reynaud said. “Everyone here has felt it, even Guy. No one will believe that accusation, Arianna. Come, let’s eat. Pretend she never said a word. That’s the best way to pay her back. Don’t let her see it if she’s hurt you.”
But someone carried the tale of Selene’s cruel attack on Arianna to Thomas, who had come to the hall too late to hear it for himself.
“She will not speak so to you again,” he promised Arianna after the meal was done and the lower tables were being folded up and put away. “I’ll beat her if I must, or lock her in her room till her temper improves. And she shall apologize to you before everyone who was here when she spoke those slanderous words.” He took a purposeful step toward the place where Selene still sat on the dais.
“Don’t make her do that, it will only upset her more,” Arianna exclaimed, catching at his arm to hold him back. “Can’t you see she’s not well? Treat her gently. She will be better once the child is born.”
“You are far more generous than she.” His attention suddenly caught by a burst of laughter in the center of the hall, Thomas glanced at a group of younger knights and ladies gathered there. “What, are they going to dance? Good, you shall dance with me.”