The Sorceror's Revenge (19 page)

25

Robert stood at a window in the great hall and looked down at the inner courtyard.  He could hear the laughter from here, and his ear picked out Melloria’s musical trill.  He scowled.  Why did she never smile or laugh for him?

             
She and her ladies had been out gathering berries and nuts from the woods, together with herbs that she would use in her stillroom.  She liked to keep it well stocked with simple herbs for use in her cures.  Angelica was useful for the relief of flatulence if the leaves were chewed.  Lavender, coriander, balm, sweet basil, marjoram, thyme and mint were amongst those she grew in her herb garden but she needed rarer plants to help with the healing of fevers and wounds. Melloria made many cures for the people of the village and the castle, and he knew that she was well loved.  She seemed to care about everyone but him.

             
Damn it!  Why could she not love him?  He would be good to her if only she would welcome his kiss.

             
He wanted Melloria in his bed.  He wanted her beneath him and on him, her moistness surrounding him.  He wanted to hear her soft mewing cries as she came for him. If she would yield to him he would forget the bride and take his pleasure with his beautiful wife and then perhaps he could sleep.  His nights were haunted with terrible dreams.  When he slept he saw demons and the fires of Hell, felt the flames scorch his flesh and the demons tear at him with their claws.  It was best not to sleep. Yet his eyes were sore for lack of it and his temper grew worse as the days passed.

Hearing Melloria’s voice as she and some of the other ladies entered the hall, he turned to look at her, noting the fresh colour in her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes.  His stomach churned and he felt desire spasm deep in his abdomen.  He wanted her so badly that he was almost sick with need.

             
Suddenly, Melloria saw him.  The laughter vanished from her face and her eyes clouded.  She spoke quietly to her ladies, giving them the basket of berries she carried.  Walking towards her chamber, she would have passed him without a word, but he caught her arm, forcing her to look at him.

             
‘Did you enjoy your foraging?’

             
‘It was pleasant.  The wind is cool but when the sun broke through the clouds it was warmer.  We have been fortunate for we have gathered berries and mushrooms, chestnuts, hazelnuts, also edible fungi and herbs to make a tasty garnish for our meal.’

             
‘I am glad you enjoyed yourself.  Melloria…’ there was pleading in his voice.  ‘Will you let me come to you tonight, please?  All I ask is that you show me a little kindness.  You can be kind to others, why not to me?’

             
Melloria’s face told the story.  He disgusted her.  She was revolted by the thought of lying with him.  His hand slid from her arm and a wave of bitterness ran through him.

             
‘Damn you,’ he muttered.  ‘What happens now will be your fault, Melloria.  Remember that…’

* * *

Melloria turned her head to watch as Robert strode from the room.  She was sickened, her stomach churning with fear.  It was the second time he had made that threat to her of late.  What did he mean?

             
‘Mama…’ Iolanthe’s cry banished the dark thoughts as she came skipping towards her.  ‘Shall we have sweetmeats for supper?’

             
‘Yes, my love.  I am going to make a rose hip syrup and you shall have sweetmeats and tarts with nuts and honey.’  She held out her hand to her beloved daughter.  ‘I must put off my cloak and boots and then I shall go to my stillroom.  Would you like to come with me and see how I make the syrup?’

             
‘Yes.’ Iolanthe took her hand and looked up at her happily.  ‘I should like that of all things.’

             
‘That is good, my darling.  It is time that you began to learn these things.  One day you may be the chatelaine of a great house, and you will need to know everything I can teach you.  It is a lady’s duty to care for those who serve her as well as her family.’

             
Melloria forgot Robert’s warning as she talked to her daughter.  Why should his threats mean anything?  He was always angry but so far he had not harmed her.

26

Mary wandered out into the inn courtyard.  White doves were flying in and out of the dovecote over the gates, and the sound of their cooing was pleasant. Above her head, the sky was a pale blue dotted with tiny clouds, for though it was winter it was still mild here in the South of France.

Mary did not know what to do with herself.  Her mother was sick and lying on the bed in the chamber they all shared upstairs.  Marta had told Mary to go away and find something useful to do, but she did not know what that meant.  Sometimes if they found work in the fields she would help her mother pick up stones, pull fruit or tread the grapes, but Marta did not make rush baskets to sell at the fairs as some women did. She had never passed on any kind of skill to Mary, except that of gathering wood for a fire. She cooked for them when they camped by the side of the road but most of the time she grumbled.  She grumbled at Mary when she was in a bad mood, and she grumbled at Will all the time.

             
Mary looked for Will.  Perhaps he would tell her what she ought to do that would be useful.  She saw him with a group of men seated on bales of straw to one side of the yard.  He was laughing and the men were sharing ale from a large brown earthenware jug that the tavern wench had brought them.  All the men seemed in a good mood, perhaps because Will had paid for the ale, as he usually did when he had money.  Mary was afraid that he might spend all the money and then her mother would be cross again.  As Mary watched, Will reached out and pulled the tavern girl down to him.  He slipped his hand inside her gown, which was cut low over her full breasts, and was, Mary knew, because her mother had told her, indecent.

             
She thought the girl must be a whore for Will to treat her that way.  She was not quite sure what that meant, except that she had heard Marta accuse Will of liking whores more than he liked her as they lay in bed at night.  Will always denied her and laughed at her, and afterwards, in the darkness the bed would move violently as her mother and Will did whatever they did beneath the covers.

             
She was not certain what they did for she lay on a rug on the floor beside the bed, but she knew the bed moved and thumped and Will grunted a lot and her mother cried out.  In the mornings, after a night like that, Marta seemed in a better humour but it did not last for long.  It seemed to Mary that her mother had been cross for as long as she could remember.  Perhaps there was a time when she had been kinder, when they lived in a house, but that was too long ago to remember.

             
Mary was seven now and most of the past few years had been spent tramping the roads, sometimes in France, and sometimes in the north of Spain. In Spain, Marta had bound her legs in filthy rags and given her a wooden crutch.  She had made Mary limp as though she were crippled and beg for coins, and because the pilgrims were kind she had often earned enough to pay for their supper.

             
Mary could never remember a time when she was not hungry.  There were days when Will had earned money and for a while food was plentiful, but those times came and went and then they would go hungry again.  They had never starved for if Will could not sell his goods he would think of some other way to earn money, and sometimes she and Marta took work in the fields.

             
Those were the times that Mary liked best.  Especially at the harvesting of the grapes. It was a happy thing to tread the grapes in the large wooden vats for they sang and laughed, and seemed like one big family.

Afterwards, the farmers would usually feed them and there were other children – children she played with when the work was done and Marta sat drinking ale with Will outside the farmhouse.  Mary missed the children when they moved on.  Will was kind to her when he thought about it, but her mother seldom gave her a kind word these days, and she was lonely.

             
Unnoticed by Will, Mary left the inn yard and went into the fields behind it.  She could hear a bird singing sweetly in the trees and there were some flowers growing wild.  She bent to pick them.  One had thorns and it pricked her fingers.  She gave a little cry and sat on the ground, tears trickling down her face as she sucked the blood.

             
‘Have you hurt yourself, little mistress?’

             
Mary turned her head as the man came up to her.  She smiled at him, because it was her nice man and she knew he meant her no harm despite what her mother had told her.  He squatted down beside her on the earth and took her hand, looking at it for a moment, then he bent his head and kissed the spot that hurt.

             
‘That will kiss it better,’ he said.  ‘Does your mother kiss you better when you hurt, Mary?’

             
‘Marta never kisses me,’ she said.  ‘Will picks me up and carries me sometimes – or he used to before I was seven.  Now my mother tells him to leave me alone.’  She brushed the tears from her face.  ‘Marta is always cross.’

             
‘Do you know why she is cross?’  Mary shook her head, looking at him inquiringly.  ‘I think she is ill.  Perhaps that is why she does not kiss you.’

             
‘She has always been cross, even before she was ill.’ Mary sighed.  ‘Will is kind sometimes but I think he does not want to stay with us.  My mother told him he would leave her soon.’

             
‘Mothers should not be cross,’ the man said.  ‘Perhaps you are like the little girl in the story.’

             
‘What is a story?’

             
‘Has Marta never told you a story?’

             
‘No.  She just tells me to go away and do something useful.  I do not know what that means either.’

             
‘Well, a story is hearing about other people’s life.  Would you like me to tell you a story about a girl just like you?’

             
Mary nodded, fascinated by his soft deep voice that sent little tingles down her spine.  ‘Yes, please.  Does she look like me?’

             
‘Yes, she has hair just your colour.’  He reached out and touched it.  ‘You gave me a little piece of your hair once, when I gave you the trinket. It was our secret, do you remember?’  Mary nodded.  ‘Well, this girl who has hair like yours and looks just like you, lived with her mother and father in a large house with her sister.’

             
Mary looked wistful. ‘Did she have a sister?  I wish I had a sister or brother to play with and love.’

             
The man took her hand in his.  His fingers were long and slender and soft, as if he had never done hard work.  She looked at his face.  One side of it was scarred.  He was not as handsome as Will but she did not mind.  He made her feel warm inside and she wanted to be near him.  She moved closer, liking the fresh clean scent of him.  Marta smelled like that on the rare occasions she washed their clothes and herself. 

             
‘Yes, she had a sister. There was just the little girl and her sister and her mother and father.  Her mother and father loved her very much and they were all happy – but then someone stole the little girl and took her away.  Her mother wept and her father was sad.  He went to look for the little girl and he promised her mother he would find her.’

             
‘Did he find her?’

             
The man’s smile was sweet and it made Mary’s throat catch.  She laid her head against his arm, feeling safer than ever before in her whole life.

‘Yes, he found her eventually.  After years of searching  and feeling very sad, he saw her one day at a fair.  He saw her and he knew her and he loved her.’

             
Mary’s eyes widened.  She felt a strange sort of tingling all over.  She reached out to touch the man’s hand for she thought he was sad.

             
‘Did he take her home to her mother?’

             
‘Not at first, because there were other things he had to do, but he followed her, and when he could not follow her himself he asked another man he trusted to follow her so that he did not lose her again.  Sometimes he talked to the little girl and she began to trust him.  You see he did not want to upset her by snatching her away from the people who cared for her.  She might have been frightened and screamed or cried.  He had to make sure that when he took her to his home everything was as it should be.’