The Innocent

stuck here at Ashlin with a dying brother, his wife, and Saer de Bude. Dickon had visited her only that one time in all the years since he had placed her in the convent. Why now this need to have her by his side? He could have died, and she could have inherited Ashlin without all of this fuss. Her presence had made absolutely no difference at all.

Or did her brother, perhaps, feel guilty for sending her away to please his bride-to-be? He needn't have, Elf thought. After the first month she had grown used to her convent, and enjoyed the company of the other little girls. Or maybe Dickon had realized all along that he was dying, and felt a deep need to have his sister with him. There seemed little love between him and Isleen now. Had he given in to her every whim in the past to try to make her love him? If only Isleen had borne Dickon children… but she had not.

Elf started, terrified, as a body plunked itself down next to her. Then her eyes met Arthur's, and she sagged, visibly relieved. 'It’s you, praise God!' she said, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

'I saw you tear out of the hall like the devil himself was after you,' Arthur said.

'He was,' Elf answered her old playmate, 'but he calls himself Saer de Bude. He followed me to the linen cupboard and tried to kiss me,' Elf told Arthur. 'He has spoken to me several times in a most unsuitable manner. It is almost as if he were trying to woo me.'

'Maybe he is,' Arthur suggested quietly. 'I wouldn't put it past him, Elf.' Then he flushed, realizing he had used her nickname as he had always done when they were children.

Elf put a hand on his arm. 'It’s still Elf to you, Arthur,' she told him. 'Why would that awful man attempt to woo me? I am a nun. I have voiced no indication that I have changed my mind about taking my final vows. Indeed, I cannot wait to return to St. Frideswide's!'

'But shortly you will be an heiress with a fine, small manor in your possession. Saer de Bude is a younger son. He has nothing. I believe if the lord’s wife were to inherit Ashlin instead of you, Elf, he would wed her, but the lady Isleen is not the heiress. You are. What will you do with Ashlin, and what will become of us?'

'The manor will belong to my order,' Elf said. 'I do not know what the Reverend Mother will decide. Perhaps she will rent the manor to some knight seeking a place of his own. Perhaps she will sell it off, but it doesn't matter. You and the others belong to Ashlin. You will be secure, Arthur.'

'But without our family,' he said. 'The de Montforts have been part of Ashlin forever.'

'Not really,' Elf told him. 'Ashlin was a Saxon manor in the Conqueror’s time. Its daughter wed a de Montfort, and Ashlin was her dowry. My ancestress, Rowena, did what was expedient for Ashlin, and for herself. The story goes that her brothers were killed at Hastings, and her old father wounded seriously, but his bravery had attracted King William. He ordered one of his knights, the first Richard de Montfort, to bring Sir Edmund home to Ashlin. And when he did and met the lady Rowena, it was love at first sight. She had hair my color. It is said that at least one child in each generation since has had hair this color,' Elf concluded, then she giggled, for two lambs, curious, had come over to investigate beneath the tree, and were nibbling on her soft shoes. Reaching out, she stroked them. 'They are so pretty,' she said. Then she sighed. 'I suppose I have to go back now.'

'What of the lady’s cousin, Elf?' Arthur asked her.

'I vomited on him when he attempted to kiss me,' she said. 'I hope he will now keep his distance for fear of a recurrence.'

Arthur laughed heartily. 'I know I should certainly steer clear of a girl who threw up on me.' He chortled, then stood and, giving her a hand, pulled her up. 'Elf, I know I am only a serf,' Arthur told her, 'but if that man approaches you again, I want you to tell me.'

'Arthur, a serf who strikes out at a nobleman is accorded death without exception. I should not want your death on my conscience, heaven forfend!'

'There are ways other than open defiance or violence to right a wrong between serf and noble,' Arthur told her with a wink. 'We cannot have you harassed in your own home by that rude fellow, Elf. Don't worry. We shall not endanger ourselves by our actions.'

'Thank you, Arthur,' she told him, and then she walked back to the house, her heart a bit lighter.

'Where have you been?' Isleen demanded as she reentered the hall. 'I have had to change Richard’s bedding myself as that wretched old woman disappeared just when I needed her. She said she was fetching water for my husband’s bath, but she has not yet returned.'

'Do you want me to remain here with you, or find Ida?' Elf asked her. Isleen’s tone was whiny, and frankly annoying. It was about time she did something for her husband.

'Oh, go and find her! Richard is asleep again. Where is my cousin? If I must sit here, I want some company at least,' Isleen complained.

'I will find Ida,' Elf said.

'I am here,' Ida said, coming into the hall with a large basin. 'I am not as young as I once was, lady, and cannot be hurried.'

Isleen jumped up. 'I cannot bear to sit here and watch my husband die!' she said. Then she hastened from the hall.

'You are not that slow,' Elf said. 'What on earth kept you, or did you mean for her to be alone with Dickon?'

'Her cousin came upon me howling and covered in vomit,' Ida said. 'He insisted I take his tunic from him to wash, and then he demanded a bath be brought for him. Imagine, a man who cannot hold his wine this early in the day,' Ida concluded. 'Come, let us bathe the lord.'

Reaching out, Elf gently shook her brother. 'Dickon, dearest, wake up. Ida and I would wash you.'

Richard de Montfort’s eyes opened slowly. 'Elf,' he said, 'I am sorry I sent you away. I should not have. I should not have.' Then his body gave a long shudder, and his head fell to one side.

'Lord God and his blessed Mother have mercy on his soul!' Ida cried out, crossing herself as she began to weep.

Shocked, Eleanore de Montfort stared at her brother’s limp body, his sightless eyes. 'He is dead,' she said, stating the obvious and crossing herself. Then she fell to her knees. 'Dear God, forgive me that I could not save him, for I truly tried to do so, but I had not the skills despite all I have learned.' Then she began to cry.

'She poisoned him!' Ida said in venomous tones. 'She has killed my baby, and I curse her for it! He called for you to come months ago, but she would not do it until she was certain nothing could save him, the wicked bitch! God curse her! God curse her!'

Hearing her old nurse’s lament, Elf stifled her own grief. Putting her arms about Ida, she said, 'You cannot say such things, for you have no proof of it. Like you, I have become suspicious, but there is no real evidence. You can be killed for slandering Isleen. We must keep such doubts to ourselves, Ida. We must! Do you understand me, old woman? You cannot voice your concerns in this matter.'

'Is she then to be allowed to escape judgment for the lord’s murder, my sweet lady?' Ida demanded angrily.

'Unless we can show the sheriff proof positive, we cannot accuse Isleen,' Elf said quietly. 'God knows the truth of this matter, and God will render his judgment and his punishment in his own time, Ida. We must trust in God.' She hugged her nursemaid hard.

'For you,' Ida said, 'and for you alone will I be silent. You are now the lady of Ashlin, and I will obey you. Now, release me, child. We must bathe the lord’s body, and lay him out for his burial.'

'Should we tell Isleen?' Elf wondered aloud.