'And this,' Matilda continued, delving in her ample bodice and withdrawing a small, wooden box threaded upon a leather cord, 'holds the nail clippings of the blessed St James himself!'
The other women clustered around the bed to gasp and exclaim over the dubious contents of the box. Julitta remained aloof, and busied herself replenishing the cups with wine. Am I mad, or are they? she asked herself, and grimaced to wonder whose nail clippings really occupied the little box. Why did all these saints have nails, hair, bones and clothing to spare, but never the more intimate parts? The Virgin Mary's right nipple from which the Christ child sucked? Her left one for good measure? Julitta almost choked on the thought, torn between mirth and horror at her own blasphemy. Jesu, if those biddies by the bed knew what she was thinking she would be locked up in a penitent's cell on bread and water for the next month at least!
The Lady Matilda continued to hold forth, and her audience hung on her every word. Julitta had to admit to herself that the woman possessed a story teller's skills. Her descriptions brought places and incidents to colourful life in her audience's imagination. Julitta could smell the dust of the road, feel the blaze of the sun on her spine, and taste the sweetness of the bloomy cluster of grapes that the pilgrims had eaten as they rode through the vine fields on their road to Compostella. Arlette seemed to derive pleasure from the minute details of the many churches which Matilda had visited along her route, with the various legends and saints attached to them.
'I wish that I could have seen them,' she said wistfully. 'It is too late now, my time is too short. When I was younger I wish…' Her voice trailed off and she stared into the distance and sighed heavily.
The garrulous Matilda was temporarily silenced, but quickly regained the use of her tongue, having loosened it in a long swallow from her replenished cup. 'Oh indeed, it is too late for you,' she said with a total absence of tact, 'but it is not too late for your daughter. Mayhap if you send her to pray for you, the blessed St James will grant a miracle.' She smiled at Gisele, who could only stare at her in mute shock. 'Besides,' Matilda added practically, 'she could seek out a relic to grace the new convent and bring it prestige and respect. I know places in Compostella where such things can be obtained. One of our number, a merchant from Caen, obtained a vial of the Holy Virgin's milk. Think how such a thing would glorify your convent!'
Julitta spluttered and turned the sound into a cough. The Holy Virgin's nipples suddenly did not seem so far-fetched. 'Forgive my ignorance,' she interrupted, 'but surely there are many dishonest traders in these relics. How will she know that she is not being cheated?'
Matilda stared down her nose at Julitta. 'Of course there are many dishonest traders, child. You should always ask a priest's advice before you purchase anything.'
'Oh, I see,' Julitta nodded slowly. 'Ask a priest,' she repeated.
'And use your common sense.' Matilda's eyes flashed at Julitta, daring her to speak again. 'That goes without saying, I would have thought.'
'Oh certainly.' Julitta took Matilda's advice and retreated from the confrontation. There was nothing wrong with her own common sense.
CHAPTER 52
Benedict sat at a trestle in his chamber at Brize, and counted the silver he had brought with him from Ulverton. Payment for horses by clients, the coins displayed a wide variety of mints, monarchs and petty rulers. Eric Bloodaxe, Harold Godwinson, the Confessor, the Conqueror, and even a recent William Rufus, bright as a fish scale. Benedict had deemed it prudent to remove not only himself from England, but the bulk of Ulverton's surplus coin, and if that was treason, then so be it. Rolf had entirely endorsed his decision, but his look had been wry and not a little irritated.
'You have a nose for trouble,' he had commented with a sigh and a scowl.
'Should I have yielded to him?' Benedict had retorted. 'What would you have done?'
His defence had elicited a grimace from Rolf. 'Ach, I don't know. Probably I would have promised to geld him.'
Benedict smiled at the memory and stacked another pile of silver at his right hand. Reaching to a tally stick by his left, he made a notch in it. It was not really funny. He was as good as banished from Ulverton for the immediate future. To return now would be like jumping up and down in front of an enraged bull and hoping that it would not charge.
The silver clinked gently upon the trestle, the sound comforting to his merchant blood. Raising his head he glanced across the room to his wife. She was sitting near the brazier, quietly stitching at a garment, an undershift by the looks of the fabric. Even in the privacy of their own chamber, she still wore her wimple, and the scrubbed, bleached linen did nothing to enhance her wan complexion. She was biting her lip, and as he watched her, he saw two tears trickle down her cheeks. She sniffed and reached surreptitiously into her undergown sleeve for a square of linen on which to blow her nose.
'Gisele?' He set aside the coins and rose to his feet.
She made a small sound of dismay at being discovered and shook her head, gesturing him to sit back down, but the tears came faster and harder, as if his notice had released a well-spring.
He crossed the room and set his arms around her like a cradle, and he let her cry. It had been a long time since he had held her – since he had held any woman come to that. The casual, joyous tumbles of his adolescence seemed a lifetime away, and besides, they had owned a different purpose entirely. His moments with Julitta were far too distant and far too close. And Gisele had always kept him at arm's length until she had driven him away. Now, here they were, in the same chamber, alone, with not even a maid as witness, the only disturbance the rain driving against the shutters.
Her shoulders were bony beneath his fingers; she had no more meat on her than a starved sparrow. She took too much upon herself, he thought, acting out the role that her mother had assigned to her, flavouring each moment with guilt if it was not spent in duty. He knew what she was going to say even before she calmed enough to speak.
'Mother says that she is going to take Holy vows and enter her convent at Eastertide,' she gulped. 'She has discussed it with Father Jerome and Father Hoel. She says…' sniff, sob, 'she says that it is her wish to die as a nun.' A fresh flood of weeping.
Benedict could see nothing so dreadful in that. In fact, it seemed like an excellent idea considering Arlette's preoccupation with the Church. Not only that, but if she entered the convent now, it would be the task of the nuns to nurse her, and not Gisele who was clearly drooping beneath the burden. 'What does your father say?'
'He says that it is what she wants, and that it is a wise decision.'
'And is it not?' he asked gently.
'Oh I know it is,' Gisele croaked, 'I just don't want to think of her dying. And when she enters the convent it will be like bidding farewell. She doesn't want me with her at the end.' Gisele wrung the kerchief between her fingers and laid her head upon Benedict's chest. 'I am crying for myself. I feel so frightened!'
Benedict felt the damp of her tears through his tunic and shirt. He made soothing noises and stroked with his hands. 'It is not a burden you need bear alone,' he murmured. 'You know that I am here.'
'But you wish you weren't, and I do not blame you!'
Benedict winced and tightened his hold on her narrow shoulders. Indeed he did wish to be elsewhere, but then he would only be fulfilling her expectations and contributing to his own self-disgust. 'I am here,' he repeated firmly.
Gisele chewed on her lower lip. Her lashes, spiky and wet, clung together. She sniffed loudly, then blew her nose again. 'I… I know I have not been much of a wife to you recently…'
He shook his head. 'Do not go down that road. I have not been much of a husband either, have I?'
There was a taut silence, broken only by the howl of the weather outside the shutters. Breaking it, Gisele said, 'I know about you and Julitta.'
Benedict stiffened. His heart began to pound and he knew that Gisele was sensing it against her own body.
'I know that you love her, and that she feels the same way about you.'
'It is in the past,' he said when he was sure his voice would serve him. 'And it was only the madness of springtide blood. She is content with Mauger now… and as I have told you, I am here… for you — but you must do
