“Gascony?” Stephen de Norwood looked apologetic. “But it still would be wise to send there. To have everything moving forward, preplanned, anticipated, is essential. Do you not see, mesdames,” he deigned to include Johanna, “that it is still conceivable—pardon my unfortunate choice of words—that one of Sir Gervase’s ancestors might have married one of your family or Lord Alan’s kin. Or it could be that Sir Gervase is—pardon me, sir—an adventurer. This knight may have been married already or he might have been excommunicated at the time he wed you, Lady Johanna, and so be denied the sacraments of the church.”
“Which, of course, is not so,” Johanna’s so-called husband declared calmly, deciding to run a finger down her good cheek to show his supposed affection. She caught the sparkle of controlled annoyance in his glance and tried to suppress the pessimism brewing up inside her. She had feared that the hearing would be a quagmire for the treading but if this was a taste of what was to come, they might already be doomed to failure. Even this simple procedure had been unknown to them.
“This is extremely complicated, not to mention tiresome,” muttered Lady Constance. “It could take months to send to Gascony and receive an answer.”
“I did suggest a bishop’s court would have been quicker,” Gervase reminded her mother. He kept his tone quiet and devoid of irony but Johanna knew the rebuke was there.
The proctor nodded. “Yes, it surprises me that you have not sought an audience with the Archbishop of York. It is somewhat unusual to have a case brought before the archdeacon’s court by persons of noble birth.” He smiled obsequiously at Gervase before adding: “Indeed, the court usually hears matters brought by the common people.”
Lady Constance gave an angry sigh. “We are proceeding with the matter in the hopes of justice, proctor. Archbishop Melton is in debt to Sir Fulk for some favours and we cannot rely on his lordship’s objectivity.”
Stephen de Norwood glanced questioningly at Father Gilbert, but the chaplain was suddenly showing more interest in a mark on his sleeve. A politic man, Johanna observed.
“To wit, certain parts of the cathedral would be devoid of embellishment had it not been for my hus—Sir Fulk,” she announced.
The brief silence that followed was inconveniently uncomfortable. Geraint watched Johanna’s face and neck flame at the predictable unspoken male condemnation of her forwardness in making such remarks. The proctor, however, still had a veritable warehouse of words and a determination for business.
“I do not say that the court will definitely request that a letter be sent to Gascony. It is a request that you should anticipate. Well, Sir Gervase,” he bobbed once more deferentially, “I trust I have demonstrated my worth. I will be happy to act as your advocate as well as proctor and present your argument. As I said, my fees are extremely reasonable, but a man must live and, as you will appreciate, the archdeacon does not pay me a particularly generous wage. I would not wish to offer further advice without some arrangement. Perhaps you would like time to think it over. With your leave, sir, gracious madam, I will seek some air.”
Lady Constance inclined her head graciously and he withdrew.
“Jesu!” exclaimed Geraint. He looked as if he wanted to drive his fist into the nearest door.
“We can forge the letter from your priest,” Johanna suggested swiftly.
“Oh, yes, we can do a great deal. And if the court demands such a letter, am I supposed to cool my heels here while this imaginary letter sails off to Gascony and back? You know my circumstances, Lady Constance. Even one week here is too much. This matter is becoming more like a hornet’s nest with every day that passes.” His angry glance particularly included Johanna.
“You will remain until this is settled,” Lady Constance snapped and then added more consolingly, “Besides, Gervase, if you are seen to abandon Johanna again, there will be a hue and cry after you with Sir Fulk and Sir Ralph leading it.”
He did not like that truth and cursed, turning his back on them.
“So are we to engage this man’s services, madam?” Johanna sounded hopeful that her mother still would be willing to bear the cost. Trying to manage without Stephen de Norwood’s advice would mean crossing the hazardous marsh of canon law without a guide.
Geraint jerked his head round at them. “I certainly do not intend to proceed without legal advice,” he declared curtly.
“I think you should engage him, madam,” Father Gilbert murmured.
“I suppose so,” Lady Constance agreed with a sigh, doubtless disappointed that the matter was not so straightforward as she had imagined. “Call the man in again and let us negotiate his extra fee.”
“I will fetch him in myself. I need some fresh air to keep my wits straight,” muttered Geraint. Three weeks at least while the letter business was settled! He felt as though he had spent a wretched month with them already.
The proctor was sunning himself on the wall flanking the steps. He stopped humming as Geraint approached and rose respectfully.
“I have decided to engage your services, proctor. We can negotiate your fees in a moment and I should like to consult you straightway, but. . . but seeing this is the lady of Conisthorpe’s demesne, she will wish to be present at any discussions and I shall not be able to exclude her or my wife without causing offence. However, if we could manage to speak privily . . .”
“Of course, that is understood, Sir Gervase. After all, the lady Johanna is the defendant and women are notorious weathervanes. Even if you are . . .” He broke off and coughed politely.
Geraint, distracted by the return of Sir Geoffrey across the drawbridge with an empty cart being driven in behind him, apologised for not listening and Stephen de Norwood, a trifle put out, pursed his lips briefly. “I was saying, sir, that no matter how devoted you are to the lady Johanna and her mother, it would be best to confide in no one but myself until this case is over.”
If only I could, thought Geraint, nodding. Mayhap this man of law could find him a swift way out of the hellish impasse.
“Say no more, sir. Perhaps I can meet you this afternoon? Do you know the alehouse hard by Bainham Priory down the dale?”
“No, but I shall find it,” Geraint muttered doggedly as they mounted the steps. Oh yes, he needed to take a breath of freedom and discover exactly where he stood.
THE SCHOOLMASTER—NO, she must cease calling him that—was looking mighty pleased with himself as he sat down to dine, Johanna decided. Perhaps his wound had stilled its aching. He astonished her further by telling the table a jest about the Scots which no one had heard before and he did not pick at the stockfish as he had the previous day. Her mother, on his right, was looking very pleased with his performance.
When Sir Geoffrey and Brother Stephen, sitting beyond Lady Constance, fell into a discussion of hare coursing with mutual enthusiasm, Gervase leant back in her father’s chair. She sensed his sideways glance.
“What happened to Lady Edyth? I cannot say I have missed her.”
Johanna drew breath hesitantly before she answered, but the seat on the other side of her was safely empty. Her brother had been sent back to his lessons before the fruit and wafers.
“Mother has locked her in the keep for the morning, but we did give her the two most comely men in the garrison to guard her.”
“Fortunate Edyth,” he nodded, adding, “Remind me to give you the letter I wrote to you before our wedding so you can wear it against your skin for the next few days. You will appreciate it needs to acquire a perfumed, wept-over appearance.”
“In such a few days? Perhaps I should drop it in my bathwater, or I could use one of mother’s onions again.”
“But then it might acquire a mixed aroma.”
“I hope you wrote nothing there that would bring blushes to my cheeks in court,” she answered primly.
“Well, it might certainly turn the left one into a rainbow.” He swiftly shifted his leg nearest to her out of kicking range. Staring down the table, he added, “Shall we tr
y a good helping of ostentatious flirting? Pity you added to your hurts last night.” Before she could move her head back, he took her chin in his fingers with a husbandly freedom that she resented. He seemed to be making a habit of it.
“Let me go!” Clenched teeth behind a honeyed smile.
Inspecting her skin, he ran a calloused thumb over the unkind marks. “Calm yourself, beloved. It is fading fast like . . . Help me, Johanna, I am trying to look a besotted, spangled lover. Like a . . .”
“Like a puddle drying up,” she offered, trying to put out any fires.
“No!” He let go of her, laughing. “Have you no soul? I was trying to find more courtly words.”
She licked a flick of gravy from the side of her mouth and saw the blue merriment metamorphose into a deep ocean that she could not fathom. In Fulk’s gaze she had read only calculation, cruelty, condemnation in abundance—but this man’s eyes, like the shining surface of water, changed constantly. She wanted to gain his trust. You want to wear him on your finger like a lodesterre, her conscience warned her, and, she admitted honestly to herself, she was beginning to relish the pretending. Mayhap her thoughts showed for Gervase of a sudden looked away, his forehead creasing as if he had suddenly bitten into something he disliked.
Swiftly, Johanna sought to re-establish the rapport but it was like mending a spider’s web; the silken threads that briefly bound them had been carried away. She was forced to rely on practicalities instead.
“I have been thinking,” she cast down a plank of conversation for him to step on. “Could Father Gilbert suddenly remember that he had some papers belonging to Father Benedict? He might even find a reply from an imaginary priest in Gascony or Laval.”
“Forge another letter, you mean?” Gervase asked softly and shook his head, his lip curling. “I think Father Gilbert has probably tested the limit of his friend at the priory’s goodwill, but we can ask him—if your mother has not already done so. Seeing the way this shire runs, Heaven knows how many of the priory documents have had their ends snipped off over the years.”
“You can manage three weeks, can you not?” Her tone was humble, from her heart, and she looked down modestly as she spoke. His silence alarmed her. Please be kind to me, she prayed. She did not want to have to beg.
It was disappointing. The rogue did not deign to look at her. He was staring arrogantly at the arras on the end wall.
“I do not want to speak of it further.”
It was a silencing device that both Fulk and her father had used, and now this man was employing it too. His refusal to reassure her was like a spur to her side.
“Heaven curse you! You are going to raise your price.”
Geraint jerked his head round, lips drawn back to snarl at the insult, but he remembered their circumstances in time and checked swiftly to see if anyone had observed them.
“Christ Almighty, woman!” he muttered. “Do you really want to pick a quarrel with me here?”
“I am sorry, Gervase.” She spoke his name insolently, sounding bitter as she added, “The trouble is that when a man says he does not want to discuss something with me, I become rather angry, even though, being a mere woman I should used to such dismissiveness. I doubt, sir, you would close the lid on a conversation with Father Gilbert or Sir Geoffrey in such a manner. Answer me. If my mother does not raise your fee, will you leave?”
While two of the menservants stripped away the cloth with its spatters of gravy and set a fresh one before them, she was forced to wait impatiently for his answer. When it came, it was clear the reins of his temper were held again. He tossed his long hair back in the lordly way he had. “I will leave this place as soon as I can, my lady.”
The honesty of the answer chilled her. Somewhere inside her a spark of idealism had still burned like a tiny light in the appalling darkness, a belief that he actually wanted to help—that it was not golden coins and a gift of shiny armour that lured him like a greedy adventurer.
“I knew you were lily-livered,” she hissed. “Arrows such as you always fall short.”
Not looking at her, he idly rubbed a finger across an ancient, puckered stain on the cloth. “I can see now why Father Gilbert is encouraging you to hide yourself in a cloister. You have a tongue like a scourge and a mind like a miser’s. But how does the proverb go? ‘Better a shrew than a sheep.’”
It was unforgivable. She rose abruptly, needing to flee the truth. But where could she hide from herself?
“Johanna, is something wrong?” her mother called out at the scrape of the stool legs on the flagstones.
“My lady.” Gervase managed to catch Johanna by the arm with one large hand and keep the seat behind her knees with the other so that she could not withdraw. She tried to free herself from the knave without calling attention to the struggle, but with little exertion because of his great strength, he pulled her back down. “I fear I have been teasing her, Lady Constance,” he called along the table.
Her back straight as a measuring rod, Johanna clasped her hands in front of her on the board and took a deep breath, chastising herself inwardly that she had allowed the months of ill-treatment by Fulk to leave her so vulnerable, so foolish that she always raised her hackles without thinking.
With a sigh, the man beside her set his large powerful right hand over hers. “I swear to you it is not the money, Johanna, that keeps me here.” Her glance flew up, searching whether his face was open for her to read, but she found him ready, offering compassion instead of enlightenment. “Believe me, it is not the money.”
She would have played at bellows, fanned more words from him, but her mother was knocking on the board for everyone’s attention.
“We may as well stay comfortable here.” Lady Constance dabbled her fingers in the ewer being taken round to each person at the high table. “Now that you are acting on Sir Gervase’s behalf, Brother Stephen, pray tell us the procedure.”
Johanna, with an inward sigh, forced herself to pay attention. She wanted to be alone with Gervase and exact his motives; instead she had to watch Stephen de Norwood wriggle self-importantly on his seat as if he were easing himself onto a clutch of eggs before he began.
“On the first day of the hearing the proctors of the court take their oaths and the plaintiff, that is you, Sir Gervase, will bring your libel against Lady Johanna here, the defendant. And, of course, Sir Fulk will do likewise. On the second day, Lady Johanna will answer the libels from each husband.”
Gervase’s hand had found its way around her shoulders and was idly fingering the embroidery of her surcote.
Johanna, trying to ease forward, away from that distracting caress, gestured the proctor to halt. “But what exactly is this libel that Sir Gervase is to bring against me?”
“It is a petition, madam. Sometimes unlettered plaintiffs submit it orally, but generally it is a short document. In this case, Sir Gervase will allege that you have unlawfully married Sir Fulk when you are already married to him. It usually ends with a plea. Sir Gervase will be requesting that you honour your contract with him.”
As if to give emphasis to the proctor’s words, Gervase’s fingers slid onto her bare flesh. She tried hard to listen as Stephen de Norwood continued, but the possessive touch was playing unfair games.
“Sir Fulk, in his petition, will no doubt allege that your precontract with Sir Gervase is either unlawful or that it never took place, and his plea will request that the court recognise his marriage with you as binding and order you to rejoin him.”
Johanna received a comforting smile from Gervase that was designed to impress the proctor, while his fingers moved to the side of her neck, carrying out some strategy of their own that both confused and angered her. It was necessary, of course, to present a semblance of intimacy, although she was tempted to insert her elbow into his ribs the moment they were unobserved.
Stephen de Norwood pressed on. “As I said, my lady, you will make answer to both libels. On the third day, I will introduce the questions that ar
e to be set to the witnesses called on behalf of the plaintiff, Sir Gervase. Sir Fulk will also name witnesses to attest to the validity of your second marriage and may employ an advocate to question them. I will be stating your ‘positions,’ sir—here I use the word to mean arguments in your favour. As the case proceeds there will be interrogatories from both the judge and the examiner.”
“Examiner?” Gervase shifted irritably, mercifully letting go of her, his glance meeting her anxious eyes. The name alone boded ill.
“Part of the usual procedure, sir. The examiner is an officer of the court who will pose the written questions to the plaintiffs, the defendant and the witnesses. It is his task to test the veracity and credibility of the parties and witnesses. He will ask them the day your marriage took place, the time, the place, whether the sun was shining and so forth. He will also ensure that the witnesses have no hidden interests, that they have not been bribed, for instance.”
Johanna, biting her lip, received a further sideways glance from Gervase before he asked, “Does the examiner ask these questions in the common hearing?”
“In the court, you mean? No, sir, this is all done privily outside the hearing.” Johanna heaved an inward sigh of relief. “The depositions are written down, however, and will be read out later in court. When all this has been done, the judge will determine the verdict.
“Do you have any further questions on the procedure, sir, mesdames? If you have not, forgive me, but the Prior of Bainham has asked me to give an opinion this afternoon on some pressing ecclesiastical matters.”
“Will it take long, proctor?” Gervase asked, frowning at the inconvenience. “I require further discussion with you. After all, who knows how soon the archdeacon’s officers may arrive. I am willing to come and consult you at the priory this afternoon as soon as the prior’s matters are settled.”
“Of course, Sir Gervase.”
“May I come?” Johanna asked later as they left the hall together for the sake of appearances.
The Knight And The Rose Page 23