by Linda Sole
At the back of the house several rooms opened through arches directly onto the gardens without doors or windows. The grounds were extensive, the house hidden from curious eyes at the front and protected by a high wall and heavy iron gates. At the back there were secluded walks, beds of scented flowers, trees, shrubs and a pool where Nicholas told her they could bathe on hot evenings when the nights seemed airless.
After she had caught her breath, she turned to him eagerly. ‘Where are the children, Nicholas?’
‘They have their own apartments upstairs,’ he told her. ‘But listen, I think I hear voices. They may be playing by the pool. I know that Sebastien has a boat he likes to sail and the pool is shallow enough that they can come to no harm.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Dearest one, let us go and find them…’
Anne took his hand, her heart thumping wildly. She was about to see her son for the first time since she was forced to give him up and the daughter she had lost at birth. Would Mary look like Iolanthe and was Nicholas’s son like him?
The children were playing at the edge of the pool. Iolanthe seemed to be in charge and was directing Sebastien in his efforts to sail the small boat. They were poking it with sticks, trying to make it sail across the pool. The pool itself was beautiful, set amongst scented scrubs and roses, and tiled with a mosaic of ceramics in a pretty blue that reflected the colour of the sky. Anne watched the two who played together for they squabbled, as children will, but seemed happy. Glancing at the girl who stood alone, her heart caught for there was a look on Mary’s face that contained such longing it made Anne want to weep. Her daughter looked lonely and shut out, as if she felt she did not belong. Then Mary turned her head and saw them. Her expression changed to one of delight and she rushed at Nicholas, her arms outstretched.
‘Father,’ she cried. ‘Father, you are home.’
‘Yes, my daughter,’ Nicholas said catching her as she flung herself at him and swinging her into his arms and holding her above his head. He laughed up at her as she shouted her pleasure, then brought her down and, taking her hand, turned her to face Anne. ‘And this is your Mama. She has longed to see you for so many years. Say hello to her, Mary.’
Mary’s gaze turned to Anne, uncertain and awkward, as if she feared her reception. Anne dropped to her knees and held out her arms to her. She had longed for her lost daughter, hearing her cry and feeling her pain and sadness for so many years.
‘Mary, my lovely lost darling,’ she cried, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘I am so glad that your father found you. I have thought of you so often and wept for you.’
‘Mama…’ Mary approached diffidently. ‘You are my Mama?’
Anne drew the child to her and holding her to her breast. She kissed her face and stroked her hair, looking at her as if she could never have enough of her. ‘My dearest daughter. I want you to know that you are loved by your father and by me.’
‘Mama!’ Iolanthe ran to them grabbing her mother by the throat and almost strangling her in the violence of her emotion. ‘You went away from me again…’
‘Iolanthe, my dearest one. I have missed you dreadfully,’ Anne said. She noticed that Mary drew away at once, giving her place to Iolanthe, as if she accepted that she must always be first. Anne smiled at her. She would talk to her later alone, but now she must see her son. Gently, she put Iolanthe from her and looked for Sebastien. He was staring at her but made no attempt to leave the pool and come to her. She thought he looked frightened and a little lost, as if he did not know where he was or why he was here. She held out her hand to him. ‘Come to me, Sebastien. I want to see my son.’
He hung back reluctantly, afraid or uncertain, until Iolanthe turned and beckoned to him imperiously.’
‘Come here, Sebastien,’ she commanded. ‘This is our Mama. You must greet her.’
Sebastien came then, as if Iolanthe pulled his strings and he obeyed her like a kitten or a puppy might.
Anne looked into his solemn little face, his grey eyes large and wondering. She reached out and touched his cheek, her heart catching. The tiny babe she had held in her arms for a few hours had grown into the image of his father. Glancing up at Nicholas, she saw him watching her.
‘He is so like you. The girls have my colouring, but he is very much your son.’
‘Yes,’ Nicholas nodded, then glanced at Mary who had crept closer to his side. ‘I must leave you to become better acquainted with your mama, children. I have been away and there is work I must do.’
‘May I help you, Papa?’
Mary’s face was pale and tense, as if she had found the meeting with her mother and Iolanthe’s possessive reaction intimidating.
‘Would you not rather stay and play with the others, Mary?’
Mary glanced at Iolanthe and shrank closer to his side. ‘I would like to help you, Papa.’
‘If you truly wish to be an apothecary and a physician you will have to go to the school in Salerno one day, Mary. Trotula was a woman of great wisdom and learning. She once studied there and wrote clever words that must bring hope to all women for it was their ailments she studied. There is a new college in Paris, founded by Robert de Sorbon, the almoner of King Louis, in 1257, but I believe you will do well in the school I attended. You shall go to Salerno, daughter, when you are older – but in the meantime I shall teach you to make simple cures.’
Nicholas looked at Anne, who had gone to the edge of the pool with Iolanthe and Sebastien and was being instructed how to sail the boat. Iolanthe was clearly in charge of her brother, but he seemed happy to follow her lead.
Nicholas gave his hand to Mary. He had always loved Iolanthe from the moment of her birth, but Mary’s gentle diffidence and her need for reassurance had touched his heart. Her interest in his work was something they could share and he would find pleasure in teaching her.
The past years when he had worked and schemed to bring about the circumstances that would see this happy day, when Anne and her children would be reunited, were behind them now. Whatever had been done had been done and would be forgotten. The future must be happy and peaceful for Anne’s sake and his children’s. He would dabble no more in the black arts or politics. All he wanted was for his family to live peacefully together.
* * *
Iolanthe stood outside the door of Papa’s chamber and listened. Cedric had warned her she must never enter Papa’s private rooms without his permission, but he had taken Mary there. The jealousy burned deep inside Iolanthe. Papa had always taken her with him wherever he went when she was little. He would carry her in his arms or in a sling over his chest and then nurse her on his lap, but now there was Mary and Sebastien. She did not mind Sebastien sharing Mama and Papa, for he was her adoring slave and did everything she told him, but Mary was an outsider. She did not speak as they did, though she was trying hard to learn, but sometimes she spoke in a common way like the villagers.
At first she had told stories of her life on the road with Marta and Will, but when Iolanthe had told her she was a common peasant and ignorant she had ceased talking to them. Now she spoke only to the servants or Papa. She would talk to Mama too when she got the chance.
Iolanthe wished that Mary had never been found. Why could she not have stayed lost? They did not need her. Harry had been spiteful and he had liked to pull Iolanthe’s hair but he had been made to stay behind at the castle. Sometimes, Iolanthe thought about him, because she had liked him when he wasn’t spiteful. He was older than Sebastien and more fun to play with for her young brother was sometimes too timid to play the games she liked. Mary might have played with her, but she was determined not to let her. Mary must stay outside and know her place.
Yet now she was making up to Papa with her big doe eyes and her soft voice, always asking permission and never shouting or demanding. She pretended that she was interested in medicines and the things Papa did in his rooms. Iolanthe had been interested when she was small but there were so many other things to do here. She loved the warmth of the sun
shine and playing in the grounds, where she encouraged Sebastien to climb trees and paddle in the stream that ran through meadows beyond the gardens. They were not supposed to leave the gardens, but there was a place where the wall had crumbled and they could clamber over the fallen stones out into the surrounding countryside and down to the stream or the village.
They had never taken Mary with them, because she was always studying in the mornings. She said that she had much to learn if she wanted to be an apothecary like Papa. Iolanthe knew that she should study things too. She ought to read the books she was given and practice her letters and her stitching. Also she ought to play a lute or a harp, like Mama, but there were years and years before she would be grown up.
Hearing the voices inside Papa’s chamber grow louder, Iolanthe listened hard.
‘You should go now, Mary. I am sure your Mama will want to talk to you. She will want to know how well you are doing with your lessons – and she will have much to teach you herself. You may come to me for an hour each morning for the moment. As you grow older I shall teach you more but an hour a day is enough for now.’
Iolanthe drew back as the door opened and Mary came out. She was singing to herself, a pretty lullaby that Iolanthe knew was French but the words were new to her. It made her cross because Mary knew something that she did not and she ran after her, grabbing her long plait and pulling it hard. Mary gave a little shriek and turned to look at her with tears in her eyes.
‘That was unkind, Iolanthe. Why do you do things like that?’
‘Because I hate you,’ Iolanthe said. ‘I don’t want you to be my sister. I wish you would go away.’
Mary looked hurt but she did not cry. Instead she rubbed a hand over her eyes, as if rubbing her tears away.
‘Papa found me and brought me to his house. He would not have done that if he did not want me here.’
‘I’ve seen you making up to him, you sly thing,’ Iolanthe said viciously. ‘Well, I’m telling you – you can be my sister and I shall let you play with Sebastien and me sometimes or you can help Papa, but you can’t do both.’
Mary stared at her for a moment, then lifted her head. ‘Sebastien is gentle and he would be my friend if you let him but I don’t like you. You don’t want me here and I don’t want to be your friend. I shall help Papa when I can and you can’t stop me.’
‘You wait and see if I can’t,’ Iolanthe said, aimed a kick at her sister’s shin and ran off before the new defiant Mary could kick her back.
She hated her sister and one day she would make her sorry that she had defied her. Mary was trying to take Papa away from her and that meant she was the enemy. Iolanthe knew she must be careful for Mama would punish her if she hurt her sister, as she had punished her when she bit Harry’s ear. Later, Mama had bought her a new doll. It was so easy to get her own way.
She would smile at Mary and pretend to be kind when Mama and Papa were near, but she would punish her every chance she got.
‘I hate you, Mary,’ she said, her eyes glinting green like a cat’s. ‘One day I shall make you really suffer…’
56
The woman turned and looked back at the inn she had just left. The woman had employed her for some weeks, but as soon as her condition became apparent she had turned surly and this morning she had been given her wages and told she was no longer wanted.
‘If I had known you were with child I should not have taken you,’ the woman told her. ‘I am sorry for your situation, but I cannot have you here unless you can work, and soon enough there will be a child. It would drive my customers away to hear a child crying in the night.’
‘I would work until the last, and I would keep the child quiet.’ The woman had tried to cling to her job but her employer had been adamant. She was to leave; though this time she had been paid and spoken to fairly.
She put her hands to her swollen belly. The child was kicking inside her but for how long? If her condition made it impossible for her to find work she would starve and the child with her. She found a bench and sat down in the shade for it was a warm day, though the summer had flown. Soon winter would follow. She had slept on the streets for several nights but in winter she would find that unbearable.
When had she lain with the man who had given her a child – and what was his name?
She had two choices it seemed. Either she must lay down and die or knock at the door of the whorehouse she had seen as she looked for work. The woman had not wanted her child to be born in such a place but she might have to consider it, for she knew her parents would not welcome her home. She closed her eyes, welcoming the warmth of the sun, trying to decide what would be the best thing to do.
‘Good morning, Alfreda. I have been looking for you for weeks. I am glad to have found you.’
Opening her eyes, Alfreda looked into the face of a man she did not know. Yet his face seemed familiar, as though she ought to know him. She felt a rush of emotions, the chief of which was shame. He could not fail to see that she was with child. Rising to her feet, she felt the heat in her cheeks.
‘Who are you? Is the child I bear yours?’
For a moment the man hesitated, then he smiled. ‘Yes, Alfreda. You are my wife and the child you bear is mine.’
‘What is your name?’
‘It is Rhys – Rhys Archer.’
‘Rhys,’ she said and then nodded. The name was familiar on her tongue.
‘I was told you were dead and I went in search of your grave, but then they told me that you disappeared before you were buried and I have looked for you these past months. Now I have found you again and I shall take care of you until the babe is born. After that you may come with me to France. My calling was not to take up the cross and fight but to help others. I walk the roads and assist travellers who fall into trouble. We could have a good life together, Alfreda – but I shall not try to compel you. I want only to help you.’
Alfreda felt the tears trickle down her cheeks as she took his hand. She went with him trustingly. He was gentle and kind and she did not wish to become a whore.
57
‘Nicholas, you should not work so hard,’ Anne said as she entered his chamber and found him writing in his journal. ‘You were up just after dawn this morning tending a patient and now you sit burning the candle until late at night.’ She smiled at him invitingly. ‘Will you not come to bed with me, my love? I long to feel you there by my side. There were so many lonely nights when you were not there and now I feel that every moment we are together is precious.’
Nicholas stood up and moved towards her. He reached out, taking her into his arms and holding her close. His lips touched her hair.
‘You always smell so sweet, like spring flowers after a rainstorm. When we were apart I sat thinking of you night after long night, and always I could smell the perfume of your hair and your body.’
Anne lifted her face, her soft moist lips inviting his kiss. A tingle of pleasure went through her as he took them in a hungry passionate kiss that told more than a thousand words. She ran her fingers into his hair, stroking his nape beneath the slightly too long locks.
‘What kept you so late, husband? Are you worried for a patient?’
‘No, my patient gave birth to a healthy child and all is well with her and the babe,’ he replied and sighed. Letting her go reluctantly, he took a paper from his board and handed it to her. ‘This came today from my friend, Signor Fedora.’
‘Ah yes, I remember him well. He gave me my garnet cross, which I treasure still.’ Anne took the letter and read it, then looked at him feeling puzzled. ‘This says that your cousin Count Santos had a son. The boy has been at school but has been sent home for disobedience. Signor Fedora asks what you would have done with him now.’ Her eyebrows arched. ‘Did you send him to the school, Nicholas?’
‘My cousin never married. The boy is the child of his mistress. He had made no provision for him. When…Santos died, his estate passed to me as his closest relative. Under my instruction, Fedora
sold the estate and invested the proceeds. The income has paid for the boy’s schooling and will provide him with an inheritance when he is twenty years of age.’
‘How old is he now?’
‘Eleven years and a few months.’
‘He is but a child. Surely he must return to school. Why was he sent home?’
‘He caused disruption and upset the other boys. Fedora says he is a difficult child. Good at sports and fighting, as his father was – but he neglects his studies and seems unhappy.’
‘What of his mother?’
‘She died before his father. She had no family or none that can be found – she was a travelling woman, of Egyptian descent I believe, though that is not certain.’
‘So he is alone in the world?’ Anne looked thoughtful. ‘You are his nearest relative, Nicholas.’ She hesitated, then, ‘Do you wish to bring him here to live with us? It is surely a family he needs. He could study with Iolanthe and Mary, though he may need extra tuition for he is older.’
‘I am not sure,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have been thinking of what is best for us all. We have only just begun to live as a family, Anne. The children are not easy for you to manage. I believe Iolanthe has been spoiled. My fault I dare say. She is wilful and strong-minded, wanting her own way all the time. Mary is uncertain and needs encouragement, and Sebastien needs your love. I have noticed that he thrives now you are here.’
‘He is so much like you, Nicholas. It is like seeing you as a child.’
‘Yes, he is much as I was as his age…’ Nicholas frowned. ‘It is for Sebastien’s sake as much as anyone’s that I hesitate. My cousin was always stronger than I when we were young and had I not been firm in my will he would have dominated me. I would not have his bastard make Sebastien suffer the torments that children sometimes inflict on each other.’