The Knight And The Rose

by Isolde Martyn

  “But we do not need him. It is unjust that we must be turned out. For God’s sake, Maman, you have shown you can run Conisthorpe better than any man.”

  “But I cannot lead the knights to war. That is what this whole kingdom depends upon. Supplying men when the king snaps his fingers.”

  “Mother,” Johanna took her hand. “Do-do you ever miss my father as a, you know . . .”

  “There are times, my darling, when only a man’s arms around you will suffice.”

  “But women are strong if they care to be. Look at you, Mother, you have fought for me like a tigress.”

  “And shall do as long as I have breath, my darling, but this is a world that is ruled by the sword for all Holy Church would have it otherwise, and besides, it is more complex than that. I. . . I needed your father and I miss him, even if he could be unreasonable at times, and I like to think he needed me.”

  Johanna put her arms about her. “I will move to the south tower,” she whispered upon a sigh. “To please you, to make the hearing move faster and to sweeten the verdict, whatever you want, save I will not let him lie with me.”

  “No, I never expected that of you,” sniffed her mother, searching in the silken purse on her girdle for a kerchief.

  “No, I know that, Maman, but if you set a drink in a man’s hand, have you ever found one who will not try it?”

  SHE SAT OBEDIENTLY in the castle garden later with a cushion and a fur rug beneath her on the stone seat, her toes perched on a footstool above the wet grass. A pelisson of coney furs kept her upper body warm for the wind was still fresh even in the shelter of her mother’s herber. Unused to being idle, she had a shirt for Gervase across her lap, but only the first row of the collar embroidery was finished and she neglected it now. It was at times like this she missed her little dog. He would have been on her lap. The tears came but she smudged them away and tried hard not to be afraid.

  Her mother’s minstrel arrived to sit on a stool at her feet, and with his bow drew forth sweet sad notes from the psaltery, while Agnes busied herself unbidden tucking daisies into her mistress’s unpinned braids.

  For a small space, Johanna managed not to think about the morrow’s hearing, her own discomfort or the two husbands who plagued her peace, but put her mind into a state of grace and delighted in the loveliness of the moment. The white daisies and yellow primroses sprinkled the tiny mede and there were shy violets and periwinkles beneath the opening leaves of the hawthorn hedge. Surely a God who had made such beauty could not return her to Fulk’s cruelty! But she knew that tomorrow he could demolish all her lies. She supposed she should forewarn her mother and Gervase, but there was nothing they could do. Fulk would win. Perhaps the Lord Saviour who had been scourged and tormented by his enemies would aid her. But although above the bailey the flock of castle doves exuberantly wheeled in a whirr of snowy wings, the cock robin in the hedge piped a warning. Johanna blinked back the tears again, feeling vulnerable and alone. Even the poor robin knew tranquillity could not last; there were cats in the flowerbeds and goshawks in the sky.

  Gervase’s shadow fell across her and before she could forbid them to go, the servants obeyed his flick of dismissal. Oblivious of her scowl, the arrogant upstart put his hands upon his belt, stretched his back and stood deciphering the clouds. There was a large smudge of whitewash upon his right sleeve and a lettering of cobwebs on his left stocking, which together with the bruise on the edge of his jaw made her wonder whether either of them could be taken as respectable.

  “Go away!” she said sternly.

  Geraint ignored her words and let his gaze loose to wander over her. He had rarely seen his supposed wife without her hair braided tightly beneath a caul and veil, but today she wore it in two loose plaits with flowers threaded through them. Merely a thin band tethered the fine lawn veil for the sake of propriety and the chrysoprase green of her outer kirtle where it showed against her breast beneath the tawny fur drew forth the green of her eyes. No artist could have imagined a sweeter scene and she could easily have played the model for a saint or holy maiden from the scriptures.

  “Will you stop humming?” Johanna ordered, but not unkindly.

  “Was I? It is nearly done, you know. You should come and say where you want your wall-hangings placed if you feel up to it.” He meant if her bad temper had dissipated, so she scowled and made no answer. The smile about his handsome mouth remained amiable, but his tone was less friendly: “Lady Edyth’s broomstick has been saddled. Want to kiss her farewell?”

  “No, I leave kissing to you along with ordering my servants. I thought my mother was paying you to be a noble not a cobweb broom.”

  He looked down and brushed off the dusty spider-threads and, moving the shirt and mended needlebox, sat down uninvited beside her. In silence they watched one of the villeins downwind barrowing dung onto a distant herb bed.

  Geraint had a list of matters to raise before the morrow. One was uppermost in his mind but he forbore to ask her straightway, choosing instead to edge his way slowly along that hazardous cliff top.

  “A short dalliance, indeed,” he scoffed, reminding her of the morning’s labours. “You lack imagination, you know that?” He rang the nearest dark plait, like a bellpull. One of the daisies fell out.

  “How long do you take?”

  He kept his profile to her but his lips twisted in good humour. “Wait and find out.”

  She parried the remark. “You mean you would keep me waiting?”

  He scratched at a chalky patch on his knee. “I mean it academically, of course. You see, I may have to testify how long we were in the hovel. Let us agree upon two hours.”

  He watched her eyes widen as she swallowed her surprise. “Two! Two hours, sir? Impossible! Oh, I suppose you might do it several times to be sure—but two hours!”

  He roared with laughter. “Dear God, Johanna, you are a goosehead,” he exclaimed, slapping his hands on his hose.

  “I am not!” she hissed and lowered her voice. “What happened the rest of the time when we were on the bracken? If we talked, we must decide what we talked about.”

  “We did not do very much talking.”

  “Then we must have slept for most of it.”

  “Waste that precious time sleeping! You have no inkling, have you, Johanna?” She could only blink at him in puzzlement. “If the examiner asks, my lady, can you tell him how we spent the time? He may ask, you know. You need to give it some thought.”

  “True but it might save a great deal of bother if you tell me what you will tell him. He may ask, you know,” she mimicked.

  “You want me to tell you what I did to you that afternoon?” he asked incredulously.

  “Why not? If you can narrate it in a sensible manner. After all, we are two mature beings and . . .”

  “Oh, lady, this is foolish.”

  “Please, Gervase, as you point out, I need to know.”

  “I am not sure your motives are honourable,” he muttered suspiciously.

  “Of course, my reasons are honourable,” she protested, gazing at him innocuously and then looking away. The limpid blue depths were swirling, unreadable.

  If she was gulling him and up to mischief, it was impressive, but Geraint conveniently found her innocence believable. Knowing Johanna’s past, it was possible she was truly ignorant, and it might help heal her as well as clarify matters, should the examiner interrogate them.

  “So, begin, sir!”

  “We went up into the loft. I went first and then helped pull you up. There is no room to stand so you would have crawled across to the bracken.”

  “It must have been dark.”

  “Yes, but there were cracks of daylight.”

  “If the light was from the roof, then it would have leaked during the storm.” It was an apt but annoying observation.

  “No, the light came through cracks in the walls.”

  “It would have been very hot then.”

  “Yes, but the rain cooled the air. I
. . .” He ran his glance over her surcote where the fur cloak had parted. “Since you were garbed simply, like Agnes, I loosened your hair from your coif and pushed you gently down on your back and then I began to kiss you and slide your gown down over your shoulders to free your breasts.” He tried not to look at them now.

  The lady seemed unimpressed. Dear Heaven, perhaps he had better not go on with this; he was becoming moved by the imagining.

  “Well, that does not take very long. I still do not understand how it would all take two hours and you surely would not undress me thrice.”

  “I removed your shoes, I very slowly untied each garter with my teeth and kissed my way up your thighs as I unrolled your stockings. Oh, Christ Almighty, Johanna, stop looking at me like that!” The little wretch was working out whether he could do both at the same time. His words were having no effect on her whatsoever but they were arousing him.

  “Then I pushed your skirts right up over your head to stop you making foolish conversation for the rest of the time,” he snorted, and lapsed into sulky silence, one thumb stroking a graze upon his knuckles.

  “I do not believe you,” she said crossly.

  “I wonder why not. Well, if you must know, Johanna, I would have stroked and kissed and caressed you until you were pleading with me.”

  “I knew it,” she sighed. “Pleading with you to stop. I always do it.”

  “No, pleading with me to continue.”

  “Ha! Most unlikely.”

  “You were hot and wet with desire and you were arching your hips towards me wanting more.”

  She frowned. “Do some women do that?”

  “All the women I sleep with.”

  She shook her head. “I am sure you are not boasting but truly I do not think it would have happened like that. Not with me.”

  “No doubt you would have tried talking me out of an arousal,” he muttered.

  “I was a different person then,” the words were spoken softly, “but we shall pretend it was as you say.”

  “By all the Saints, woman, I cannot believe this absurd conversation is taking place.” Unable to withstand the challenge, Geraint clenched his jaw and continued swiftly, “You were groaning and sighing, desperate for me to enter you.”

  “Ha!” Johanna tried to stand up but he caught her arm and pulled her back down.

  “I swear if you say ‘ha’ one more time, I shall toss you over into the moat. You were hot, wet and sweet as I brought you to your fulfilment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, Johanna, do you know nothing?” he exclaimed, taking her by the forearms. “Have you never . . . Oh, it is the woman’s equivalent of a man’s pleasure, a letting go, a sweet surrender.”

  “Ha!” She closed her lips with a snap as he released her. “The words, the words are all wrong. It is always conquest and surrender.” She reached across him to gather up the shirt.

  He caught her wrist, staying her. “It can be the other way round.”

  “How, if the man must barge into the woman, violating her?”

  His gaze met hers with honesty. “I have never barged in nor have I ever violated.”

  She swallowed and gathered the shirt to her as if it would protect her. “I am sorry.” Her tone grew wistful as she added, “You probably were chivalrous and gentle.”

  He swivelled to face her and took hold of her braids. “And that afternoon you were kind and generous and loving. You welcomed me between your thighs and it was Paradise to find release inside you.”

  Visibly, she was shaking. “I-I wish I could believe such ecstasy was possible.”

  Geraint could not help saying it, his voice husky. “Let me prove it to you. I could.” He doubled her plaits around his hands shortening the distance between them.

  “No,” Johanna whispered practically, setting a hand preventatively against the velvet jupon that clothed him. “I doubt you could and, in any case, it would do us both harm. You will be leaving and I want to take my vows. This perjury is evil enough without sinning fur—”

  His mouth came down upon hers and he pulled her into his body. She struggled but he held her tightly. His tongue and lips were coaxing her into submission. Her body thrilled at his hands upon her; her mind shrank back warily. As if he could feel the confusion in her, he raised his head.

  “This is not sensible,” she whispered without rancour.

  “No.” His voice was a dreamy murmur but his blue, intense gaze willed her to accept his lordship over her. “Do you know how much you make me want to touch you?”

  This then was seduction, the sinful temptation of the flesh warned against in sermons. For a moment Johanna permitted herself to enjoy the sensations that were weakening her body. For a breath in time, this large stranger made her feel desirable, but it was the false, warm sense of feeling safe and protected within that embrace that was the danger. His kindness was purely transitory, a surrender to his body’s temptations. Within the month she would be just a memory and she could not endure to be hurt and then discarded. Johanna pushed her hands up between them and tried to break his hold. “I want to be able to trust you, sir. I wish you will not say such things.”

  “Trust me, I will heal you, every single sinful—”

  A loud “ahem” set them apart with a jerk. Jankyn, his hands on his hips, stood before them. Gervase sent him a fierce look but Johanna, back in the saddle of her feelings, smoothed her skirts, amused.

  “Well, Jankyn?” her wooer asked tersely, reddening somewhat.

  “There is a package arrived for my lady at the gate.”

  “Package!” Jankyn had her attention now. No one sent her packages, except that time at Enderby when Fulk . . . She sprang to her feet in horror, snatching up her skirts.

  Knowing the obstacles, she was fleet-footed, dodging the children and the brewer’s cart. Gervase almost caught her before she reached the barbican. Sir Geoffrey was standing in the gateway with the porter and two of the garrison beside him.

  “In God’s Name, keep her back!” he bawled at Gervase.

  Strong hands seized her around the ribs but she fought, screaming like a madwoman. She did not have to investigate the maggot-covered contents that had tumbled from the canvas sack, she could smell the repulsive stink of flesh.

  Fulk had sent her back her little dog.

  Nineteen

  RETCHING, JOHANNA STAGGERED back against the cart. Then, thrusting her knuckles hard against her mouth, sobbing as though her heart was broken, she ran to God.

  Unwanted, Geraint paused later at the chapel door. His lady lay prostrate on the tiled floor, her face cradled in her arms. Although her body no longer shook, her fingers were spread like claws as if she had been trying to burrow into Hell. Father Gilbert, hearing the creak of leather that betrayed an eavesdropper, drew him out into the fading daylight.

  “I feel as useless as a scabbard without a sword.”

  “She is fearful, my son, that Barnabas will be the next.”

  “Barnabas? Who is Barnabas?”

  “The little pageboy she favoured at Enderby. Did you not know that Sir Fulk used the child as a scapegoat to force her compliance?”

  “By Christ, I hope that whoreson roasts for eternity!” He wanted to carry Johanna into the sunlight and put his arms about her, but any promises he might make in haste, he could not keep. “By your leave, Father, Lady Constance bid me see my lady Johanna to her chamber to rest before dinner.” Not exactly a lie, but he could not in conscience leave her on the cold flagstones. The household would expect him to offer her tender comfort.

  The chaplain looked dubious. “Very well, my son, but I suggest you ask Yolonya for something to make her sleep deeply tonight. Go to her.”

  Expecting harsh words, Geraint dropped cautiously on one knee and, gently clasping the frail shoulders, turned her warily.

  Amazingly she let him guide her to her feet and compel her out of the dim, candlelit chapel into the courtyard bustle and through the garden postern
, past the lenten sprouts and the spinach rows. Geraint scooped up the discarded fur, forgotten by Agnes, tossed it over his good shoulder and led Johanna down to where they could watch the river, still brown and turbulent, frothing as it buffeted the boulders. He settled the fur about her shoulders and angled her before him so his body might protect her from the east wind that had sprung up.

  “I have always held that dogs have souls. And pigs,” he added as an afterthought.

  Johanna, peeping sideways, saw him shift his stare from the unclothed branches reflected in the sluggish water on the opposite bank to pensively study her as if evaluating the devastation left by her tears upon a face that was already sunken-eyed. Impossible to share the burden, she thought miserably. I wish I could tell him what else Fulk has done to me, but he can either do nothing or else something foolishly impulsive. And he is still a stranger for all that we have been tossed together.

  “You are trying to humour me. There is a fine line between triteness and goodwill,” she answered finally. Was it only a few days that she had known this man? It seemed like . . . she tried not to think but for this very moment. Thinking hurt.

  “Yes, I apologise, but my motives presently are as pure as gold. I suppose you will argue with that too, the quality of gold, I mean.” He heard her little sigh and observed, “You realise people will probably give you lapdogs from all directions now out of sympathy.” He slid his arm protectively around her shoulders. “You can have a fleet of them in your wake.” Then he asked her, “Are you with child?”

  It was premeditated, like jabbing a pin deliberately into her. Johanna blinked at him in appalled anger. But he was ready for her furious effort to run away.

  “You!” she almost spat in her indignation, but he remained unruffled. Ha! His consideration had all been calculated; a pretty view to soothe her grief, the little dabs of humour, and now he was using his iron strength to cower her just as Fulk had. He used to shake her.

  “It is not just your little dog, is it, Johanna? You were weeping earlier. I need to know why.”