An Earthly Knight Read online

  “I will first read the words our good abbot sends you, then translate so you will understand what he has said.”

  He began to read the Latin on the scroll. The tension in the room grew with every incomprehensible word. Jenny tried to escape by imagining what it would be like to understand a language that could be written. Neither English nor French were. The written word allowed the Church to move thoughts and knowledge through time and space in ways Jenny could hardly comprehend. It was said that the brothers at Broomfield were making a chronicle so that others, even those yet unborn, might know of important events long into the future.

  An abrupt silence brought her back to the room. Brother Bertrand had finished reading. He allowed this silence to hang heavy in the air before speaking, increasing the tension, deliberately, it seemed to Jenny.

  “My lord abbot says many wrongs were committed to make this sad situation. Chiefly, Vicomte Avenel, you brought the wrath of God upon your house by remaining these many years unmarried, leaving your daughters without the guidance of a mother. This fiend who made his home in your hall could not have captured your daughter’s heart under a mother’s watchful eye. The primary sin, therefore, is yours.”

  Jenny gasped. Even Isabel raised her eyes in amazement. The failing at the centre of their father’s life had been dragged into the light of day. If anyone else had spoken in this way, he would have shaken the bower with rage, but he bowed his head before the priest like a meek child.

  “I took two wives, Father. They gave me three children. I loved each wife with all my heart, and both were taken from me in the very flower of youth. When Jeanette’s mother died, I had not the heart to take another.” He sighed. “Men speak well of Eudo. Perhaps I have served the girls less well.”

  When Brother Bertrand spoke again, he was more kindly. “You take the judgment of our abbot with humility, Sir Philippe. That is good. The abbot further says that the matter of your eldest daughter’s conduct must be resolved as quickly as possible. He charges you to accept my judgment as his own.”

  The vicomte nodded. Jenny held her breath, wondering what would come next.

  “It seems to me the damage of your failure to remarry has been done. Your daughters are grown women and would profit nothing by the introduction of a new mother. The next bride who comes into this household should rightly be that of your son.” Jenny heard her father’s sigh of relief. He must have feared the Church would order him to marry.

  Brother Bertrand continued. “Let us begin with the easiest problem. Your youngest daughter is capable of managing a household. She is too pretty and charming by far to be left unmarried. Brother Turgis tells me she is even more wilful than her sister, which seems difficult to believe. A match should be made for her as soon as possible so she does not prove too great a temptation for some poor young man. If you permit, I will see to this matter myself. I am well acquainted with some noble families who might find favour with such a maiden.”

  “Yes, certainly, Father.”

  The vicomte was so relieved to be excused from remarrying, Jenny knew, that he would willingly give her away. But she would think of herself later. Her problems were small compared to Isabel’s.

  “Now, in the matter of your older daughter.”

  Brother Bertrand rose and looked at Isabel. Without raising her eyes she flinched as if his gaze burned her. “This situation is serious indeed. Of course, the woman is always to blame for leading a man astray. Women are the root of all evil in such matters, just as Eve betrayed our forefather, Adam. We do not know to what degree your daughter played the role of seductress.” He sighed, as though the complexity of the situation defeated him. “But her case is hardly typical. Knowing what we do about this man now, if man indeed he was, the role she played in causing his death could hardly be considered a sin. All that is required of the girl is a simple confession. Her refusal to confess places her soul in danger. The idea that a mere girl might defy the rule of the Church is troubling and offensive. This behaviour cannot be allowed to continue.”

  Brother Bertrand’s voice rose. “Look at the girl. Even her dress is an act of contempt. She dares to assume the clothing of a penitent, yet remains unrepentant and unforgiven. Vicomte, what action have you taken to bring her to her senses?”

  “Father, she spends her days in prayer and meditation. She eats bread and water.”

  “Yet she did not attend Mass this morning. Have you beaten her?”

  Jenny had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from crying out in protest.

  The vicomte hung his head. “Forgive me, Father. I cannot raise a hand to either of my girls. It seems too cruel.”

  “Brother Turgis tells me you are entirely too lax in the punishment of your servants as well. This is another grave weakness, Vicomte. Just as God shows His love by punishing us for our sins, though it pains Him to do so, you must show your daughter your love by beating her to submission. Indeed, the abbot does us this kindness within the abbey. Brothers who have sinned gravely are whipped.”

  They waited for Jenny’s father to reply, but he hung his head and said nothing. For all his bluster, Jenny knew her father could never hit his girls. This might be a weakness, but she loved him for it.

  “Vicomte, if you cannot bring your daughter to heel, I have the abbot’s authorization to bring her to Rowanwald, where she will answer to the ecclesiastical court. I will take her this day.”

  “Oh, Father, please, I beg you, do not take my sister!” Jenny burst into tears. She had no idea what the Church court might do to Isabel, but Brother Bertrand’s description of discipline in the abbey left her shaken.

  Brother Bertrand seemed moved by Jenny’s tears. “Come now, my child,” he said. “Do not be distressed. I have no wish to take your sister to Rowanwald.” He turned to her father. “Vicomte, if I am to leave your daughter in your care, you must agree to certain conditions.”

  “Certainly, Father,” the vicomte said. He sounded almost as terrified as Jenny.

  “The girl must leave off this mockery of penance immediately. She must bathe and comb her hair and don proper clothing again. She is forbidden to brood about. She must join you at your table, see to her household duties and attend Mass daily.” He turned and spoke directly to Isabel for the first time. “Isabel Avenel, do you swear before your Maker to do these things?”

  For a long moment, Jenny was afraid her sister might defy the priest, but finally, without raising her eyes, Isabel whispered, “I do.”

  Brother Bertrand’s shoulders relaxed. “Very good, my child. I am pleased to see you are not without sense.” He turned to Jenny’s father. “Vicomte, I would take no pleasure in bringing this young woman to justice before the Church court. It will be much better if she simply makes her confession.”

  He crouched in front of Isabel so that he could look into her eyes. “Isabel, Isabel, the sisters at Coldstream are waiting to welcome you. The Heavenly Father is ready to pour the cleansing waters of forgiveness on your head. You have only to ask.”

  This kindness undid Isabel in a way that threats and anger could not. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

  Brother Bertrand let her cry for a while, then said, “Come now, Isabel. Your sins are not so great. Are you ready to confess? I will hear you myself before I go.” He was gentle now.

  Isabel’s voice was muffled through her hands. “Father, please, I am not ready. I beg you for a little more time.”

  Jenny could have cried in frustration. They had seemed so close to putting this terrible episode behind them. For the first time, she understood the anger her father felt toward Isabel. Why could she not release everyone from this suffering?

  Instead of losing his temper, Brother Bertrand said, “Isabel, why do you deny yourself the comfort of confession?” At first, it had seemed to Jenny that he wished to punish Isabel, but now that she was yielding, his manner had changed.

  Perhaps he was only trying to accomplish the abbot’s goals.

  Is
abel lowered her hands and raised her tearstained face. “Please, Father,” she whispered, “I do not feel worthy of forgiveness.”

  This answer seemed to soften Brother Bertrand’s heart completely. Jenny thought she even saw some small approval in Brother Turgis’s eyes.

  “Isabel, the decision is not yours to make.” He sighed and rose. “But now, at least, I understand. Vicomte, the abbot will not be pleased when I return without your daughter’s confession, but, now that I know her heart, I am willing to bear his disapproval. I cannot say how long he will wait, however.” He paused, it seemed to Jenny, to calculate how much time he could buy. “Because Isabel is not defiant, I am not so worried about her soul. Perhaps we can give her a season. I will return again at the end of the summer. By that time, if Isabel has not confessed to Brother Turgis, I will hear her confession myself. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to take her to Rowanwald. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father. This is most generous. I feel certain we will find a way to bend her heart to receive the mercy of the Church before autumn,” the vicomte said. Jenny was relieved to notice that beating was not mentioned again.

  “Sir Philippe, I asked my entourage to be ready to travel as soon as I finished here. Let us go to the stables now, to tell the men your daughter’s horse will not be needed for the journey.”

  Jenny would have gone to Isabel, but Brother Bertrand stopped her. “Come bid us adieu, Lady Jeanette. Leave your sister alone to examine her soul.”

  Jenny left Isabel reluctantly. But before they were halfway to the stable, she glanced back to see what she had hoped for—Galiene slipping into the bower. Jenny smiled. If she knew Galiene, water for Isabel’s bath was already warming in the kitchen shed. Galiene would happily spend the rest of the day restoring Isabel’s appearance. She might be inclined to eavesdrop, but Jenny knew the old nurse could soothe a troubled soul as no one else.

  When the entourage was mounted and ready to leave, Brother Bertrand said, “I almost forgot. A small favour, Vicomte. I noticed while riding here that your land is blessed with many great oaks. We are always fearful of running out of ink at the abbey. Oaks make galls on their twigs, small, round boils. You may have seen this. From these galls, we make an extract for our inks. The old ones are useful, but the newset crop is always best. If your men could collect some galls this summer, I will take them in the fall. It sounds like a small thing, but in truth, we cannot manufacture ink without them. You would be doing us a great favour.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Brother Bertrand turned to Jenny. “For you, my child, I hope the best of suitors will come.” With a flick of the reins, he set out for Rowanwald.

  In less than a day, he had done so much to change their lives.

  Chapter Five

  “Will you see to your sister, Jeanette?” her father asked as the last rider disappeared through the bailey gate. It was only mid-morning, but he sounded exhausted.

  “Galiene already has, Father.” Jenny pointed to the servants carrying buckets into the bower. “She will care for Isabel better than I could. This is a new beginning for my sister. Let Isabel come to your table tonight as if reborn.”

  “I hope she may, little one.” Jenny could see her father struggling to put his feelings into words.

  “You . . . you have been a comfort to me in all of this.”

  She kissed her father’s cheek. “Everything will be better now, Papa. You will see.”

  “Have I been a bad father to you, little one?”

  “You have given me freedom, Papa. Even if others think me wilful, I will always love you for that.”

  He said nothing, but Jenny knew, for once, she had said the right thing. Perhaps the worst was over now. She sighed and looked around. The sun had burned off every wisp of mist, leaving a cloudless spring day behind. In weather like this, Jenny could hardly bear to be indoors. She thought of La Rose, her little chestnut mare, trapped in the dark stable. She decided to test her luck.

  “La Rose has been inside all spring. She will sicken if no one rides her. Perhaps I could take her out.” She held her breath.

  “You must not go alone. One of my men will come with you.”

  Jenny’s heart sank. “Oh, Papa, please. I have always gone into the forest alone.”

  “Not today, Jeanette. What if you overtake the party from the abbey? Brother Bertrand would not approve.”

  “But Papa, if I am to have a husband, I must find him a falcon.”

  As she had hoped, her father laughed. It was an old joke between them. Jenny had been no more than seven when she first declared she would find a falcon to give her husband before she would marry.

  “Very well. If you seek a falcon, take Ranulf. I keep the man for that very purpose.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Jenny said, hoping he would not hear the disappointment in her voice. Of course, the falconer could be expected to help capture falcons. She cursed herself for not thinking of that.

  “He will meet you in the stable,” her father said, turning toward the mews where the falcons were kept.

  Jenny ran to the kitchen shed, dodging serving girls who were still fetching water for Isabel’s bath. “Hawise, give me some oatcakes and cheese and something to drink.”

  The red-faced cook looked up from the fire.

  “Away to the forest, are you?”

  Jenny laughed. “How did you know?”

  Hawise took a leather flagon from the wall and filled it with ale. “To keep you in the bailey on a day like this, we would need to tie you down. Be careful not to lose yourself in the woods.”

  Jenny made a face at her joke. “My father insists on an escort today. Ranulf will come with me.”

  “Only because the priests upset everything, pet,” Hawise said, reaching for a second flagon. Jenny was not surprised that she knew what had happened. Galiene told her everything. “Just do as he wishes for now,” the cook continued. “Your lord father will be back to his old ways soon enough and you will have your freedom again.” She winked at Jenny. “As for Ranulf, half the fish that come to your father’s table are caught by him. Give him the chance to spend an afternoon tending his weirs. He should be gone before the words are out of your mouth. I packed food enough for him, too.” And Hawise handed her the leather sack that was kept in the kitchen for Jenny’s rambles.

  “Oh, Hawise, thank you,” Jenny said. They both knew she was not talking about the food.

  The sweet fragrance of hay and sharp smell of manure hit Jenny together as she entered the stable. Ranulf stood beside a big grey gelding named Bravura, holding the reins of Jenny’s own mare. The falconer had come into the household only a year ago. He was a tall, thin man with a hawkish face that Jenny thought entirely appropriate for one in his trade. Her father valued his skills, but Jenny had never spoken to him because he was so repulsive. Smallpox had disfigured his skin with so many pocks and bumps, it was impossible to guess what he might have looked like before. He seemed to know how a girl like Jenny would feel about him, for he averted his face as he handed her the reins. “Your horse, my lady,” he mumbled. Jenny felt a stab of sympathy for this man who knew no woman would look on him with favour.

  La Rose whinnied with pleasure to see her.

  “Bonjour, La Rose,” Jenny whispered, rubbing her neck, for the little horse understood French best. The mare buried her soft pink muzzle in Jenny’s hand. Jenny was up on her back in a flash, to spare Ranulf the embarrassment of having to help her. His look of astonishment made her laugh.

  “Now, man, up on that horse and see if you can keep pace with me,” Jenny said. Ranulf smiled, for Bravura stood head and shoulders above La Rose. But as soon as they were out of the stable, Jenny and La Rose left the big horse in a cloud of dust.

  La Rose raced down the broad main road as if she, too, could not wait to be in the forest again. Past ploughed riggs and pastures filled with new lambs they cantered until a canopy of branches covered them. Here, Jenny slowed La Rose to a saf
er trot, for the roots of the great trees made dangerous traps for a horse on the forest roads. Jenny caught her breath as she looked up. Huge oak and ash trees towered so high, Jenny often felt as if she were at the bottom of a great, green sea. But now, these giant trees were just beginning to show their leaves. Bluebells flooded the forest floor, and the smaller trees that would go unnoticed in the summer were having their moment of glory.

  Hawthorne and cherry flowers blazed white in the sunlight that streamed through the mostly bare boughs of the larger trees.

  Jenny looked over her shoulder as Ranulf and Bravura caught up. The falconer kept a respectful distance as they rode on.

  “You ride like a knight, my lady.” Many men would have said this with a sneer, but the falconer’s admiration was honest.

  “Most women ride only because they must,” Jenny said. “When I was a child, I rode beside my brother. We used to spend long days in this forest. Now, I must beg for permission to come here.”

  “Most women fear the forest,” Ranulf said.

  “Most Normans fear the forest. Have you never noticed? They prefer the open fields, where the land has been ploughed into submission. But I love the wild heart of the woods. Comfort and peace are here for anyone who cares to seek it.” Jenny stopped, a bit embarrassed by her passion. She rarely spoke this way to anyone, but when she looked at Ranulf, his ugly face was softened by a smile.

  “Your lord father tells me we are to look for falcons. Do you know where they nest in these woods? I trained on a great fiefdom in England where the land is flat. The falcons build their eyries in trees there, though it is not in their nature to do so.” As soon as he began to talk of the birds, Jenny noticed, his awkwardness was gone.

  “When I was a child, falcons nested in the crags at the top of the knowes.”