'Yes, Mauger.' She fastened the straps on the heavy linen satchel. 'I think you have everything you need.'
He stared at her, a frown between his thick blond brows. 'I don't like leaving you,' he said belligerently, as if it was her fault that he had to perform his military service.
She met his grey eyes briefly, then looked down at the counterpane of their bed. It was a new one that he had bought from Rouen as a guilt offering after he had beaten her. Three shades of blue wool intricately woven with a chevron pattern. Against her will, she liked it. 'It will not be for long,' she murmured, wishing that it were eighty days instead of forty.
'You think so?' he growled. 'It will seem like purgatory for me. Will you miss me?'
'Yes, Mauger, of course I will.' She looked at him again. To have remained staring at the counterpane would have given her away. And indeed it was the truth. She would miss him watching her every move. She would miss being stifled. The thought of such freedom was as heady as strong wine. 'I will pray for you every morning at mass.'
He took her in his arms and kissed her with that strange, disquieting mixture of need and anger. She submitted dutifully, knowing that she was caught in a cleft stick. If she responded too much, he would doubt her integrity; if she did not, then she was failing in her role as tender wife. Perhaps a life at Dame Agatha's bathhouse would not have been so difficult after all.
Once Mauger had gone, Julitta set about loosening her bonds and rediscovering herself. It was not an immediate transformation, but came slowly and painfully over the weeks. The carefree, devil-may-care Julitta had joined the past together with the princess and the beggar maid. Now the coveted wife peered out from between her cramped prison bars and contemplated freedom.
A fortnight after Mauger had gone, Julitta felt emboldened enough to remove her wimple, shake loose her hair, and bathe herself in one of the laundry tubs, filled to the brim with hot water and a scattering of herbs. Mauger viewed such pastimes with suspicion; they spoke to him of a past that was better buried. Julitta had learned to love the luxury of a tub at Dame Agatha's and it was something that she had sorely missed. She knew without a doubt that someone would carry tales to her husband concerning her relapse into decadence, but retribution was over a month away, and in that time she could think of a believable excuse.
She spent an hour in the tub, until the skin of her fingers and toes was crinkled and the water was becoming cold. Her maid Eda helped her to dress in a clean linen undershirt and gown, topped by an embroidered dark green tunic, and looked at Julitta askance when she requested her cloak.
'You be going out, mistress?' she enquired as she fetched the garment.
Julitta twisted her damp hair into a loose braid, secured it with a strip of silk, and topped it with a wimple. 'Don't look so frightened. My husband might not approve of the bathtub, but he will find nothing wrong in my destination.' Which was why she had chosen it. She would spend an afternoon of freedom, blowing the dust from the old Julitta, refurbishing her, and the tale-tellers would have very little to relate. 'You can accompany me. We are going to visit the new convent and see how the work progresses.'
'The new convent, mistress?' Eda repeated, looking surprised. It was the first interest Julitta had ever shown in Lady Arlette's project. As far as the maid was aware, Mistress Julitta had no strong leanings towards religion, unlike the other women of her family.
'Don't just stand there, put on your own cloak,' Julitta said impatiently, having no desire to discuss her motives with the woman. Eda, although not overly bright, was shrewd, and could usually follow a trail to its conclusion unless quickly put off the scent. 'Lord Mauger has told me about it; I want to see it for myself.'
Without waiting for Eda, Julitta pinned her cloak across her breast and swept out of the room to order a groom to saddle her horse.
Rolf had granted a wooded ridge to the east of his keep at Brize-sur-Risle for the building of the Cluniac convent dedicated to the Magdalene, and with that grant, he had bestowed the revenues from one village and the rights to take tolls on the road that wound its way along the foot of the ridge towards Honfleur. It was a generous endowment, but then the lord of Brize-sur-Risle had a position to maintain among his peers, where religious endowment was fashionable, and even had he been inclined to let fashion pass him by, he had a pious wife, who was determined that he would do his duty to God and the Church, and glorify his own name in so doing.
The air was redolent with the golden feel of autumn. There was a sense of wistfulness lingering among the harvest stubble and the ripening bramble bushes as the year gathered speed towards its ending. Julitta savoured each moment of freedom, storing it in her mind against the barren times to come. She rode her mare at a faster pace than Mauger would have approved, and Eda squeaked in fear as she clung precarious pillion to the one of the escorting men-at-arms.
The ridge had been felled of its trees, and a new pathway ran like a white scar to the building site. Nuns, masons and labourers had arrived in the early spring, and now, almost seven months later, the foundations had been laid, the service buildings mapped out, and the main structure of the convent had begun to rise from the landscape in white Caen stone. A mason's apprentice with a hod load of mortar passed in front of Julitta, and ran lightly up a withy walkway to the craftsmen working on the walls. The chink of chisel on stone carried like the chime of a chapel bell, and the air was powdery with dust. In the midst of it, a brawny cook stirred a cauldron of pottage for the workforce. Julitta gazed round at the activity. People who thought Arlette de Brize had a gentle nature should come here, she thought. Every stone was a testimony to her determination to have her way.
As if her thought had summoned the image, Julitta's attention was drawn to a small travelling wain that had been drawn up in the shade of two oak trees on the edge of the bustling site. A servant was watering the two horses between the shafts, and another man was helping Arlette de Brize descend from the rear of the wain.
Julitta pulled a face. This, she had not bargained for. She and Arlette had seen very little of each other in the months since Julitta's marriage, and the arrangement had suited both parties very well. Dear Jesu, she prayed, her stomach knotting, please don't let Gisele be with her.
Another woman descended from the wain, but it proved only to be Arlette's serving woman, and Julitta's stomach unclenched. She could not have faced Benedict's dainty blonde wife with any degree of equanimity. Clicking her tongue, she urged her mare in the direction of the wain, knowing that she would have to make a polite greeting whatever her private dismay.
Arlette de Brize had been talking to the master mason, but when Julitta approached, she broke off her conversation, and stiffened her spine. Julitta could tell from the gesture that Arlette was as uncomfortable as she about the encounter.
'It is a fine afternoon to ride out,' Julitta said, and gestured at the bustle. 'I came to see how work is progressing.' In her own ears, her excuse sounded lame and she felt her face grow hot beneath the other woman's cool scrutiny.
'It is progressing very well,' Arlette responded. 'I did not know that you had an interest.'
'More of a curiosity.'
Arlette pursed her lips. 'I see,' she murmured.
Julitta had the disturbing impression that Arlette did see, all too clearly. 'When will it be completed?' she asked quickly, and kicking her feet from the stirrups, dismounted.
Arlette frowned at Julitta's lack of propriety in not waiting for her groom to help her down as etiquette demanded, but passed no comment. 'It is to be consecrated at Easter of next year, but of course, work will continue for many years yet, to the greater glory of God. Come,' she took Julitta by the arm. 'You say you are curious. Let me show you what you say you have come to see.'
Julitta glanced at Arlette's hand where it gripped and guided, and was surprised at its boneyness. Surely the rings had not hung so loosely before, or seemed too large and bulky for the fingers? Arlette's breath had a stale, sick smell too, and Julitta had to keep holding her own in order not to inhale the rank odour. Arlette led her through the chapel, refectory, cloister, chapterhouse and dorter, and the further they walked, the slower Arlette became, and the more she leaned upon Julitta's arm.
Her father's wife stopped in what was to be the guesthouse, with rooms set aside for women who wished to retire from the world without necessarily taking holy vows. 'One day, I intend living here myself,' she announced, gesturing around a room that was no more than a mere outline in ashlar and rubble. 'In a year or two.'
Julitta gazed at the view of undulating fields and woods. In the distance, she could just see the stone battlements of Brize-sur-Risle. Nostalgia stung her eyes. It was more than a year since she had dwelt within its
