Julitta stood in the road and watched her father, the Cluniac monk who had married her to Mauger, and the small entourage of knights and servants, ride away from Fauville. It was very difficult to know who was the betrayer, and who the betrayed. Her father said that he had done his best for her, that she would see it in time, and had admonished her to start her life afresh and be a good wife to Mauger.
Her new husband stood beside her in the road, one arm raised in farewell, the other in heavy possession across her shoulders. She was his property now, her father had relinquished his guardianship when the vows were pledged. Julitta was still unable to believe that she had spoken the words so meekly. It was not what she wanted. Inside she was screaming.
Even before the horsemen were out of sight on the road, Mauger lowered his arm and drew her round to face her new home, her prison. She twisted her head and stared over her shoulder, willing her father to turn around, but the distance continued to grow and Mauger's urging grew more insistent.
'Come,' he said brusquely. 'Tis no use looking back.'
'What reason have I to look forward?' she retorted, and tried to shrug him off. 'I did not want this marriage, it was forced upon me.'
Mauger's grip tightened. 'By your own folly,' he said tightly. 'What you want is not always what you receive.'
'You seem to have landed upon your feet.'
'Do you think my dream is to have a wife who cannot see beyond her own selfish whims?'
'I don't care what your dream is,' Julitta said defiantly, and then cried out as Mauger's fingers dug into the apex of her shoulder with braising force.
'Then you had better begin caring,' he snarled. 'I won't stand for your sulkiness, and I'm not a soft fool like your father or Benedict de Remy to cast myself at your feet to be trodden on. I am the master of Fauville, and my word here is law!' His voice gained power, the last five words hard and vehement. He fixed her with his stare, imposing his will. When he spoke again, his tone was flat and cold. 'Disobey me, and I will beat you. Please me, and I will please you. I'm a simple man, I live by simple rules.'
Julitta thought of another scathing retort related to his simplicity, but caution jailed it in her head, and a twinge of shame caused her to cease glaring at him and lower her lids. If she was being horrible to Mauger, it was because life was being horrible to her. Was it selfish to want what she could not have, or just unfortunate? Tears thickened in her throat and prickled her eyes. I will not cry, she told herself and clenched her jaw.
'Do you understand?'
Unable to speak, Julitta just nodded. Mauger grunted, the sound accepting, but doubtful, and led her into the hall.
Fauville was a fortified manor house, built in stone at the time of Mauger's grandfather. There was a stone tower too, for defence, but this was more as a last resort and was used mainly as a storeroom for surplus provisions and basic weapons such as spears, shields, bowstaves and arrows. If war did come to the lands of Fauville, then the population would remove six miles to the greater security of Brize-sur-Risle.
The manor house possessed a vaulted undercroft to the ground floor, again for storage of supplies. On the first floor, with access by stone stairs and a rope hand rail, was the hall, a handsome room with arched windows and a fine, raised dais at the end away from the door. There was a narrow wooden staircase up to the loft, which ran the length of the hall below, and served as a bedchamber and personal room for the lord and lady should they wish for a little privacy. It was here that Mauger brought Julitta as the day yielded to a mild spring dusk.
The air was dusty and cobwebs festooned the beams. Although the bedding had been hastily aired by two maids, it still smelled musty and stale, as if it had not been washed from its last occupant, who had died here more than six years ago. There were yellow creases in the linen and a nasty brownish blotch on the exposed bottom sheet. Julitta wrinkled her nose. Although she and her mother had lived a perilous existence in Southwark, they had always kept themselves and their belongings clean. She could still see her mother vigorously punching their bed linen up and down in a barrel of hot water, and smell the stinging aroma of the lye suds. And Lady Arlette was meticulous to the point of obsession. The maids were always whisking the sheets away to be washed, and the linens in the coffers were strewn with dried lavender and rose petals to keep them sweet.
Mauger kindled some more rush dips to light the gathering gloom. 'This room hasn't really been used since my father died,' he said. 'I know it is a little shabby, but nothing that a good broom cannot set to rights. You can start tomorrow.'
Julitta stared at him, the resentment plain in her eyes.
'It is your right as the mistress of Fauville,' Mauger said. 'And your duty.'
'Ah yes, my duty,' Julitta repeated flatly. She did not want duty. She wanted love and light and laughter… and Ben. Selfish, selfish. Do your duty, be approved of. She sat down on the grimy bed, the rushlight shadows lumbering around her, and removed her veil and the circlet of twisted silk which held it in place. Her braids, each a handspan thick and tightly plaited, framed her pale face, the determined mouth and blank eyes. Fumbling, she reached to the pin at the neck of her gown. Dear Christ, was it only last night that Benedict's fingers had lingered there, and then upon her breasts?
Breathing heavily, Mauger began to undress too. From long habit he took time to fold his clothes neatly and place them on the single coffer in the room, and then he advanced to the bed.
Julitta's vision was filled with the sight of his flat belly, the stripe of blond hair running down into his pubic bush and the burgeoning length of his penis. She averted her head.
'There is no need to pretend shyness,' he said. 'You are not a virgin.'
'And you hold it against me. I can hear the anger in your voice.'
'Why should I be angry?' He shrugged, and pulled her to her feet so that he could remove her undergown and short linen shift. 'I'm the one who has you now. You're my wife, and honour-bound to obey me, as I am honour-bound to care for you.' One calloused hand closed over her breast, the other pressed her close to his body and he rubbed himself against her, his organ hot upon the juncture of her thighs. Julitta closed her eyes and prepared to endure.
The mattress was lumpy under her spine, and Mauger's eager weight crushed her down. His mouth was everywhere, wet and searing. His hands rubbed and pawed. 'Open your legs,' he demanded. 'Open for your husband.' Julitta complied. She had no desire to fight him and increase the level of his vigour, which already bordered on violence. Mauger searched for a moment, poking and prodding, then with a grunt, found her sheath and thrust himself forward with the force of a bull. Julitta clenched a scream behind her teeth and arched her body.
'Ah, you like it, do you?' Mauger panted. 'Is mine bigger than his, eh? I know what you need.' He set to with a will.
Julitta bit her lip. The force of his thrusts cramped her inside, but every time she tried to wriggle away, he would grip her buttocks and command her to lie still and take what was due. As his crisis approached, he pounded into her as if he hated her. At the moment of his climax, Julitta's scream blended with his roar of triumph and despair.
In the aftermath, he lay upon her, his chest and belly heaving rapidly, slippery with sweat. Julitta felt the thundering of his heart and heard his breath roaring in her ears like the roaring of a wild beast on top of its bloody prey. Slowly he withdrew himself, and she stiffened at the scalding pain.
Mauger's hand pawed over her body in a clumsy caress. 'I'll keep you so busy, that you'll have no time for thoughts of other men,' he said thickly.
Julitta said nothing. Her thoughts were the only private thing left to her now. She was not going to allow Mauger to violate them as well.
He lay down beside her, continuing to fondle. 'We're man and wife in every way now.' There was satisfaction in his voice, but something else too, as if saying the words aloud would make their union more convincing. 'You enjoyed it, didn't you?'
Julitta longed to slap his hand away. 'You hurt me,' she said.
'You'll grow accustomed. Probably I am much bigger than he was, a man, not a boy.'
Julitta closed her eyes and turned her head away. 'You do not dance,' she murmured, thinking of the weaving of the May ribbons. 'You trample.'
'Meaning what?'
