The Shattered Rose

by Jo Beverley

  Donata, bless her, did not seem to be finding her situation bothersome. She nuzzled impatiently at Jehanne's breast, then latched on to it and settled—with an amusing sigh of relief—to filling her belly. Sister Martha left, and Jehanne could loosen the blanket to smooth out the new embroidery.

  She laughed out loud. Clever Aline!

  Her amusement faded, however. It was an excellent question. What did she want to do?

  Jehanne had made, and intended to keep, resolutions to stop being so militant. Days earlier, she had promised to leave matters in Galeran's very capable hands.

  But in this crisis she was not sure he was capable. He'd told her about Agnes, the woman taken in adultery, and the solution that had come from her punishment. Even so, he couldn't, or wouldn't, see that their situation was the same.

  Jehanne knew she had to suffer some punishment for her sin, and as she had said, in a way she would welcome it. It was not just that the community must see matters put right; she herself must feel that the balance had been made even again. Until she did, she wasn't sure she could let herself be happy again.

  A court battle would do nothing to put matters right in her heart. Especially a court battle between the two men who had given her a child, a battle in which one of them must die. She simply could not live with that.

  Thanks to Bishop Flambard, however, Jehanne now had a means to ease her soul, and possibly to prevent any fighting. But she couldn't do it by patiently staying here until it was all over.

  When Donata was satisfied, Jehanne unwrapped the babe and laid her on the bed. As she played games with her daughter, moving her arms in time to nonsense songs, she considered the bishop's unexpected involvement with her imprisonment.

  The king had ordered their detention here, but Bishop Flambard had ordered had to tell Mother Eadalyth of Jehanne's wicked sin to get the woman on his side.

  It was Flambard, too, who had ordered Jehanne's specific punishment—ten strokes of the rod every three hours. She did not thank him for that, but it could well save them all, in more ways than one.

  Mother Eadalyth had no kind thoughts about Galeran, either. "A man who would permit such sins to go unpunished is a sinner himself," she had declared while rolling up her sleeve for the first serving not long before Galeran's arrival. "He is like Adam succumbing yet again to Eve. You are to be pitied, my child, for being so poorly ruled."

  Jehanne wondered if the mother superior had modified her views at all on meeting Galeran. He wasn't the convincing picture of a weakly doting husband. But as long as he refused to punish her, that was what everyone would think.

  And of course he was doting, she thought, smiling sadly at her bastard daughter. Though not weak about it. He doted on her just as she doted on him. They would both fight and die in the other's cause.

  That was the problem.

  But since she'd caused the disaster, it was for her to sort it out and to suffer any pains, even if Galeran were furious afterward.

  She grimaced, acknowledging that she was failing in her resolutions of being a proper woman, able to wait patiently for the men to sort it out. It wasn't her nature, though, and so she could do only as she saw right and pray God to guide her.

  What was right at the moment was to accept her punishment, galling though it was, and then use it as a weapon against the bishop. But that meant she must attend the hearing the following day to show her back, to show the king how Flambard had overridden his orders.

  The mother superior would never permit it.

  Galeran wouldn't cooperate, either. In fact, if she let him know about the beatings, he'd put a stop to them. But Raoul might be more practical if she could get a message to him. The only way of doing that was through Aline. She couldn't imagine how, but it was the only chance.

  She had no embroidery tools with her, unfortunately, so, leaving Donata to kick and chortle by herself, she searched the room for anything that would make a mark. She found nothing, but the floor was simple beaten earth, and so she made mud with a little drinking water and laboriously printed a message on the blanket.

  Jehanne could read, but did very little writing, and with the inadequate materials the message looked more like a mess than words. She could only hope Aline would decipher it. Hearing footsteps, she hastily wrapped Donata again, and handed her over to Sister Martha.

  Then she went to her prie-dieu to pray, and to wait for Mother Superior Eadalyth's strong right arm. In simple honesty, she offered her pains up to God and His mother, seeking forgiveness for her sin, but, more important, protection for Galeran and Raymond. She cared not at all for Raymond of Lowick, except as someone she had known most of her life, but she knew that she had entangled him in this mess.

  In order to strike against God.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  Oh, yes, she deserved every stroke Bishop Flambard had ordained for her. She could almost bless him, if not for a certain crossbow attack, which she was sure was Flambard's work. Raymond would never stoop so low.

  Sometime later she heard the lock turn and the door open. A faint rustling told her the mother superior was rolling up her wide outer sleeve.

  "May the Lord forgive his wretched sinner," intoned Mother Eadalyth, and the rod cut.

  "Amen," Jehanne responded as steadily as she could.

  Dear Mary, help her, but the strokes hurt more on her already-sore back. She gripped the wood of the prie-dieu and strangled all noise other than a gasp at each stroke. She counted them silently.

  Another four.

  She could endure another four.

  Another three.

  Two.

  Last one.

  It almost broke her and made her weep, the relief that it was over.

  For this time.

  In another three hours, however, or another six, she would cry out. All people had limits. Her pride shuddered at the thought of wailing under the blows, but pride was a silly thing.

  As the lock turned behind the departing mother superior, Jehanne lowered her head and prayed, offering her pain for the safety of all, and victory in the end.

  * * *

  Aline had watched the sun's reflection move a quarter way around the room before Donata returned, sleeping peacefully. Aline took her, glad now that Winifred was snoring. She put Donata in the box that served as a cradle and gently unwrapped her blanket, substituting a fresh one.

  At first it just looked as if someone with dirty hands had handled the blanket, but then she saw that the dirt was writing. She shook her head. She had learned to make letters in the convent, but Jehanne had always used scribes, and it showed.

  Still, allowing for awkward shapes and strange spelling, the message seemed to be I must go to hearing. Raoul.

  Aline let out a breath and rubbed the blanket together so that it looked merely dirty. So, Jehanne wanted to go to the hearing. Since she'd specified Raoul, she clearly didn't think Galeran would help her.

  Aline sat on the edge of her narrow bed and thought.

  She was sure that judicial hearings before the king were not usually attended by women. Perhaps this was one of Jehanne's less inspired ideas, coming out of her need to always be involved in whatever was happening.

  On the other hand, Jehanne had begun to come to terms with that fault. Aline didn't think she would be trying to attend the hearing out of willful impulse. She had something of importance to contribute, something that couldn't be achieved by a simple message. They were all prisoners, however, and though the convent was not a formidable prison, it was strong enough.

  Aline sighed. In view of Jehanne's message, she supposed she had to try to engineer an escape.

  Then a new range of problems came to mind.

  Jehanne could not separate from Donata for any length of time, and escaping with a baby would be very tricky indeed. Moreover, if Jehanne wanted to attend the hearing, it would be best if she escaped not long before it. Trying to hide all night from a full hue and cry, screaming babe in arms, was enough to
make anyone quail.

  Aline saw why her cousin had mentioned Raoul. He was just the sort of man who might be able to arrange all this, and there was the additional benefit that he was foreign. If the king flew into a rage at their behavior, Raoul could flee back to his native land.

  Alone.

  Aline pushed that thought away and settled to making real plans. By the time the nuns emerged from the nones prayer, she had a strategy of sorts. It would have to wait for vespers, though, and so she sat to unpicking her message from one blanket, and stitching another in a clean one, explaining briefly what she intended.

  Late in the afternoon Sister Martha came for Donata, and Aline sat, fidgeting, to wait.

  The trouble with her plan was that it depended upon so many uncertainties. The other trouble was that it terrified her.

  When the nun returned, Aline clutched her belly. " Give the babe to Winifred. I don't feel well," she moaned. "I don't know what it is, but I'm worried about the baby. She might catch something...."

  "Oh, my. Oh, no!" exclaimed the nun, looking around for help. But the bell was ringing for vespers and through the open door, Aline could see the community filing toward the chapel. At least the timing was working right.

  "Perhaps the infirmary..." Aline gasped, covering her mouth as if about to vomit.

  "Yes!" exclaimed the sister. "We can't endanger the baby." She grasped Aline and dragged her out of the small room before locking the door.

  Aline leaned against a wall and sent up a prayer of thanks. She sent up another prayer that the infirmarian be at vespers.

  Having done her best for the safety of the baby, Sister Martha became her usual friendly self, and put an arm around Aline. "You poor thing. Come along to the infirmary. There's a privy there, and as soon as vespers are over, Sister Fredeswide will find you something to help."

  Thank you, oh, Blessed Mother, Aline said silently. There was a chance she would be left alone.

  The small, whitewashed room held six beds, all empty. Another cause for thanks. Perhaps God and His mother smiled on this enterprise. Aline collapsed onto one bed with a moan. Sister Martha, unfortunately, sat on another.

  "Do you have a pain in your belly, Lady Aline?"

  "Yes. A bad one."

  "I'll get you a bowl."

  But that only took the nun to a cupboard at the end of the room.

  Aline took the bowl and mumbled her thanks, thinking hard. "Perhaps I can sleep," she said after awhile. "Please don't feel you need to miss vespers."

  "I am excused for now to see to our guests."

  Guard us, in other words. Aline thought frantically. "Don't you think you should go to where you can hear Winifred if she calls? What if Donata turns sick too?"

  Sister Martha leaped to her feet. "Oh, dear! Indeed! The poor precious mite. Perhaps I should get Sister Fredeswide..."

  Before Aline could think of an objection to that, the nun muttered "But she has such a tongue on her, and hates to be bothered unnecessarily...."

  Aline waited, praying.

  "I'll sit in the cloister," said Sister Martha with a nod. "I'll be able to hear you or the baby's nurse." She hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry to be a trouble."

  The nun patted her hand. "Don't you worry, dear. You'll soon be healthy again."

  Once she was sure Sister Martha was out of sight, Aline slipped out of bed to reconnoiter. This room had three doors. One led out into the cloister. From behind the other she heard chanting. It must lead into the chapel, which was common enough. It meant that the door could stand open during services to allow the sick to worship.

  The third door, when she gingerly opened it, proved to open into the infirmarian's still room. It was rich with the smells of herbs and potions, and its other door—thank you again, Blessed Mother—stood open into the herb garden.

  The herb garden, however, was no escape. It had only one other exit—an archway back into the cloister, where Sister Martha presumably sat.

  With a humph of frustration, Aline studied the wooden wall that sheltered two sides of the garden. It was the outside wall of the convent, but was at least twice her height. Though it had some cross-bracing on her side, she really didn't think she could climb it. She'd never been the sort of girl attracted to climbing or other rough activities.

  On the other hand, she had to get out of here.

  She turned to consider the infirmary building itself. The peak of the thatched roof was a little higher than the wooden wall. Perhaps from up there she could let herself down.

  Her heart started to thump with fear at the mere thought, but if she was going to try, it had to be now. As soon as vespers were over, the infirmarian would come to physick her, probably followed by a suspicious mother superior.

  She remembered Raoul calling her a green cadet. He hadn't been talking of this kind of challenge, but the memory challenged her. She could do it. She could do anything if she put her mind to it.

  Aline ran back into the infirmary and brought out a sturdy stool. Standing on that, she found she could almost reach the first ropes of the low-hanging thatch. With a jump and a pull, she was spread-eagled on the thatch, praying to whatever saint guarded foolish climbers.

  As her heart steadied, she realized the roof was quite shallow, and with the thatch ties at regular intervals, it was easy enough to creep up to the crown—as long as she didn't look down.

  When she reached the top, however, she had to peep over to see what Sister Martha was doing. She was sitting in the cloister garden, praying.

  It was a long way down.

  "God bless you and keep you, Sister, and may you not get into too much trouble over this."

  Aline began to edge sideways along the peak of the roof toward the wooden wall, muttering with irritation as the layers of her clothing kept snagging on straw.

  At the wall, Aline found she was still blessed, for on the other side was a quiet, narrow street. People passed along occasionally, but it was often deserted.

  The drop, however, was still twice her height.

  Jumping was completely out of the question.

  She wished Raoul were here to train her. She was sure he knew any number of ways of getting down a wall. In fact, he'd think the task trivial, and laugh at her fears.

  "Hah!" muttered Aline. "I'll show you, Raoul de Jouray."

  Heart pounding, she unknotted her woven girdle and tied one end securely to one of the thatch ropes. The girdle was more than her height in length. If it held, it should make the drop quite small.

  If it held.

  Praying that the bell for the end of vespers wouldn't start yet, Aline waited for a time when no one was in sight. Then, whispering a continuous litany to her favorite saints, she wriggled her legs and hips over the wall, holding on to the cloth for dear life.

  "Mary, Mother of God, aid me."

  "Saint Anne, pray for me. And give me stronger arms and hands!"

  Muscles screaming, feet braced against the wall, she worked hand over hand down the stretching, straining strip of woven cloth.

  "Saint George, mighty warrior, come to my support!"

  Her hands ached and weakened, and she was sure she would lose her grip.

  "Saint Thomas, let me not doubt that this cloth will hold me...."

  The girdle snapped.

  Aline let out a squeak of terror, but in fact she was so close to the end that she just dropped with a thump on her behind.

  After a shaken moment, she leaped up, dusted herself off, and grabbed the torn strip of material off the ground.

  She was just in time. As she hurried down the lane on shaky legs, a man carrying a heavy sack on his back trundled in. He passed her without a glance.

  Stopping for a moment to catch some deep breaths, she heard the convent bell signal the end of prayer. She hastily wrapped the remains of her girdle around her waist and threaded her way into a busier street to put distance between herself and pursuit.

 
; She couldn't help smiling. She'd done it! Wait until Raoul heard about this! After a little while, however, in the anonymity of a crowded, clamorous market, Aline had to admit she was lost.

  Never imagining a city as huge and crowded as London, she'd thought that if she wandered a little, she would soon come across Hugo's house. She had walked up and down a score of streets, however, and seen nothing she recognized at all. She wasn't sure what kind of search would be made for her, but she had been confined at St. Hilda's by order of the king. Perhaps the whole city was even now being put on the alert.

  She could imagine criers appearing in the street, bellowing, "Seek out a maid of eighteen years, one with blue eyes and fair hair under a plain white veil. Her plump body is covered in a cream-colored kirtle and a red and brown over-tunic, finely worked. She is a fugitive of the king's. Detain her with all necessary force!"

  She looked around, but no one was staring at her yet. In fact, it being close to the end of the day, everyone seemed intent on their own business, and in a hurry to be home.

  Customers were making last-minute purchases, and vendors were beginning to pack away their wares. She doubted they'd notice her if she were stark naked.

  That gave her an idea. Stepping into a quiet corner, she pulled off her richly woven tunic and bundled it up in her plain veil. Then she tied her girdle around her simple kirtle. With uncovered head and simple gown she wouldn't look so out of place. Nor would she so obviously fit any description.

  What next, though? It was ridiculous, but she couldn't remember the name of the street on which Hugo had his home and business. In smaller northern towns, even in York, to ask for the house of Hugo and Mary, the vintners, would surely gain her directions, but in London? She doubted it.

  Moreover, there were so many sly-seeming people here, so many rogues and ruffians, she hesitated to announce to the world that she was a lost stranger.

  She let the press of the crowd move her past the stalls, remembering Waltham and the tinsmith's cart. If only Raoul would appear out of nowhere to help her.