Pillars of the Earth, book 2 27 страница

“Where is Wulfric now?” Ethna asked.

“I assume he’s not disposed to celebrate this wedding.”

“How does he feel about you?”

Gwenda gave her mother a candid look. “He tells me I’m the best friend he’s ever had.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t mean ‘I love you,’ does it?”

“No,” said her mother. “No, it doesn’t mean that.”

Gwenda heard music. Aaron Appletree was playing a bagpipe, running up and down the scale in preparation for a tune. She saw Perkin coming out of his house with a pair of small drums attached to his belt. The dancing was about to begin.

She was in no mood to dance. She could have talked to the old women, but they would only ask the same questions as her mother, and she did not want to spend the rest of the day explaining her predicament. She recalled the last village wedding, and Wulfric slightly drunk, dancing around with great leaps, embracing all the women, though still favouring Annet. Without him there was no festival for Gwenda. She gave Eric back to her mother and drifted away. Her dog, Skip, stayed behind, knowing that such parties provided a banquet of dropped food and discarded scraps.

She went into Wulfric’s house, half hoping he might be there, but the place was empty. It was a sturdy timber house, of post-and-beam construction, but with no chimney – such luxuries were for the rich. She looked in both ground-floor rooms and the upstairs bedroom. The place was as tidy and clean as it had been when his mother was alive, but that was because he used only one room. He ate and slept in the kitchen. The place was cold and unhomely. It was a family house with no family.

She went to the barn. It was full of bundled hay, for winter fodder, and sheaves of barley and wheat waiting to be threshed. She climbed the ladder to the loft and lay down in the hay. After a while she fell asleep.

When she woke up it was dark. She had no idea what time it was. She stepped outside to look at the sky. There was a low moon behind streaks of cloud, and she calculated that it was only an hour or two after nightfall. As she stood by the barn door, still half asleep, she heard weeping.

She knew instantly that it was Wulfric. She had heard him cry once before, when he saw the bodies of his parents and his brother lying on the floor of Kingsbridge Cathedral. He cried with great sobs that seemed torn from the depths of his chest. Tears came to her own eyes as she listened to his grief.

After a while, she went into the house.

She could see him by the light of the moon. He lay face down in the straw, his back heaving as he sobbed. He must have heard her lift the latch, but he was too distraught to care, and he did not look up.

Gwenda knelt beside him and tentatively touched his mane of hair. He made no response. She rarely touched him, and to stroke his hair was an unknown delight. Her caress seemed to soothe him, for his weeping subsided.

After a while, she dared to lie down beside him. She expected him to push her away, but he did not. He turned his face to her, eyes closed. She dabbed at his cheeks with her sleeve, wiping away the tears. She was thrilled to be this close to him, and to be permitted these small intimacies. She longed to kiss his closed eyelids, but she was afraid that would be a step too far, and she restrained herself.

A few moments later, she realized he was asleep.

She was pleased. It was a sign of how comfortable he felt with her, and it meant she could stay with him, at least until he woke up.

It was autumn, and the night was cold. As Wulfric’s breathing became slower and steadier, she got up stealthily and took his blanket from its hook on the wall. She draped it over him. He slept on undisturbed.

Despite the chill in the air, she slipped her dress over her head and lay beside him naked, arranging the blanket so that it covered them both.

She moved close to him and laid her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat and feel the breeze of his breath on the top of her head. The heat of his big body warmed her. In time, the moon went down, and the room became pitch dark. She felt she could have stayed like this for ever.

She did not sleep. She had no intention of wasting any of this precious time. She savoured every moment, knowing it might never happen again. She touched him cautiously, careful not to wake him. Through his light wool shift, her fingertips explored the muscles of his chest and back, the bones of his ribs and hips, the turn of his shoulder and the knob of his elbow.

He moved in his sleep several times. He turned and lay flat on his back, whereupon she put her head on his shoulder and her arm across his flat belly. Later he turned away, and then she moved really close, fitting herself into the S-shape of his body, pressing her breasts against his broad back, her hips into his, her knees into the backs of his knees. Then he turned back to her, flinging one arm across her shoulders and one leg over her thighs. His leg was painfully heavy, but she relished the ache as proof that she was not dreaming.

He dreamed, though. In the middle of the night he suddenly kissed her, thrusting his tongue roughly into her mouth, grasping her breast with one big hand. She felt his erection as he rubbed up against her clumsily. For a moment she was bewildered. He could have her whatever way he wanted, but it was unlike him to be anything but gentle. She put her hand to his groin and grasped his penis, which was sticking out through the slit in his underdrawers. Then, just as suddenly, he turned away and lay on his back, breathing rhythmically, and she realized that he had never woken up, but had touched her in a dream. He was undoubtedly dreaming of Annet, she realized ruefully.

She did not sleep, but she daydreamed. She imagined him introducing her to a stranger, saying: “This is my wife, Gwenda.” She saw herself pregnant, but still working in the fields, and fainting in the middle of the day; and in her fantasy he picked her up and carried her home, and bathed her face with cold water. She saw him as an old man, playing with their grandchildren, indulging them, giving them apples and honeycombs.

Grandchildren? she thought wryly. It was a big edifice to build on the strength of his allowing her to put her arm around him while he cried himself to sleep.

When she was thinking that it must be almost dawn, and her stay in paradise might soon be over, he begin to stir. His breathing changed. He rolled on to his back. Her arm fell across his chest and she left it there, tucking her hand under his arm. After a few moments she sensed that he was awake, thinking. She lay still, afraid that if she spoke or moved she would break the spell.

Eventually he rolled back towards her. He put his arm around her, and she felt his hand on the bare skin of her back. He stroked her there, but she did not know what the caress meant: he seemed to be exploring, surprised to find that she was naked. His hand went up to her neck and all the way down to the curve of her hip.

At last he spoke. As if afraid of being overheard, he whispered: “She married him.”

Gwenda whispered back: “Yes.”

“Her love is weak.”

“True love is never weak.”

His hand remained on her hip, maddeningly close to the places where she wanted him to touch her.

He said: “Will I ever stop loving her?”

Gwenda took his hand and moved it. “She has two breasts, like these,” she said, still whispering. She did not know why she did it: intuition was guiding her, and she followed it for good or ill.

He groaned, and she felt his hand close gently over one, then the other.

“And she has hair down here, like this,” she said, moving his hand again. His breathing became faster. Leaving his hand there, she explored his body beneath his wool shift, and found that he had an erection. She grasped it and said: “Her hand feels just like this.” He began to move his hips rhythmically.

She suddenly felt afraid that the act would be over before it was fully consummated. She did not want that. It was all or nothing now. She pushed him gently on to his back, then quickly raised herself and straddled him. “Inside, she’s hot and wet,” she said, and she lowered herself on to him. Although she had done it before, it had not been anything like this; she felt filled up and yet she wanted more. She moved down against the thrust of his hips, then up as he withdrew. She lowered her face to his and kissed his bearded mouth.

He held her head in his hands and kissed her back.

“She loves you,” Gwenda whispered to him. “She loves you so much.”

He cried out with passion, and she was rocked up and down, riding his hips like a wild pony, until at last she felt him come inside her, and he gave one last cry, then said: “Oh, I love you too! I love you, Annet!”

Wulfric went back to sleep, but Gwenda lay awake. She was too excited to sleep. She had won his love – she knew it. It hardly mattered that she had had to half pretend to be Annet. He had made love to her with such hunger, and had kissed her afterwards with such tenderness and gratitude, that she felt he was hers for ever.

When her heart stopped racing and her mind calmed down, she thought about his inheritance. She was not willing to give up on it, especially now. As dawn broke outside, she racked her brains for some way to save it. When Wulfric woke up, she said: “I’m going to Kingsbridge.”

He was startled. “Why?”

“To find out whether there’s some way you can still inherit.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But Ralph hasn’t given the land to anyone else yet, so there’s still a chance. And you deserve it – you’ve worked so hard and suffered so much.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll see my brother Philemon. He understands these things better than we do. He’ll know what we need to do.”

Wulfric looked at her strangely.

She said: “What is it?”

He said: “You really love me, don’t you?”

She smiled, full of happiness, and said: “Let’s do it again, shall we?”

On the following morning she was at Kingsbridge Priory, sitting on the stone bench by the vegetable garden, waiting for Philemon. During the long walk from Wigleigh she had gone over every second of Sunday night in her mind, relishing the physical pleasures, puzzling over the words spoken. Wulfric still had not said that he loved her, but he had said: “You really love me.” And he had seemed pleased that she loved him, albeit a bit bewildered by the strength of her passion.

She longed to win back his birthright. She yearned for it almost as much as she had yearned for him. She wanted it for both of them. Even if he were a landless labourer like her father she would marry him, given the chance; but she wanted better for them both, and she was determined to get it.

When Philemon came out of the priory into the garden to greet her, she saw immediately that he was wearing the robes of a novice monk. “Holger!” she said, using his real name in her shock. “You’re a novice – what you’ve always wanted!”

He smiled proudly, and benignly overlooked the use of his old name. “It was one of Godwyn’s first acts as prior,” he said. “He is a wonderful man. It’s such an honour to serve him.” He sat beside her on the bench. It was a mild autumn day, cloudy but dry.

“And how are you getting on with your lessons?”

“Slowly. It’s hard to learn to read and write when you’re grown up.” He grimaced. “The small boys progress faster than I do. But I can copy out the Lord’s Prayer in Latin.”

She envied him. She could not even write her name. “That’s wonderful!” she said. Her brother was on his way to achieving his life’s dream, and becoming a monk. Perhaps the status of novice might ameliorate the feelings of worthlessness that, she felt sure, accounted for his sometimes being sly and deceitful.

“But what about you?” he said. “Why have you come to Kingsbridge?”

“Did you know that Ralph Fitzgerald has become lord of Wigleigh?”

“Yes. He’s here in town, staying at the Bell, living it up.”

“He has refused to let Wulfric inherit his father’s land.” She told Philemon the story. “I want to know whether the decision can be contested.”

Philemon shook his head. “The short answer is No. Wulfric could appeal to the earl of Shiring, of course, asking him to overturn Ralph’s decision, but the earl won’t intervene unless he has a personal stake. Even if he thinks the decision unjust – which it obviously is – he won’t undermine the authority of a new appointee. But what’s your interest? I thought Wulfric was going to marry Annet.”

“When Ralph announced his decision, Annet jilted Wulfric and married Billy Howard.”

“And now you have a chance with Wulfric.”

“I think so.” She felt herself blush.

“How do you know?” he asked shrewdly.

“I took advantage of him,” she confessed. “When he was distraught over the wedding, I went to his bed.”

“Don’t worry. We who are born poor have to use cunning to get what we want. Scruples are for the privileged.”

She did not really like to hear him talk that way. Sometimes he seemed to think that any behaviour could be excused by their difficult childhood. But she was too disappointed to worry about that. “Is there really nothing I can do?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. It can’t be contested, I said. But Ralph might be talked round.”

“Not by me, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go and see Godwyn’s cousin Caris? You’ve been friends with her since you were girls. She’ll help you if she can. And she’s close to Ralph’s brother, Merthin. Perhaps he can think of something.”

Any hope was better than none. Gwenda stood up to go. “I’ll see her right away.” She leaned forward to kiss her brother goodbye, then realized that he was forbidden such contact now. Instead, she clasped his hand, which seemed peculiar.

“I’ll pray for you,” he said.

Caris’s house was opposite the priory gates. When Gwenda went in, there was no one in the dining hall, but she heard voices in the parlour, where Edmund usually did business. The cook, Tutty, told her Caris was with her father. Gwenda sat down to wait, tapping her foot impatiently, but after a few minutes the door opened.

Edmund came out accompanied by a man she did not recognize. He was tall, and had flared nostrils that gave his face a supercilious look. He wore the black robe of a priest, but no cross or other sacred symbol. Edmund nodded amiably to Gwenda and said to the stranger: “I’ll walk you back to the priory.”

Caris followed the two men out of the parlour and embraced Gwenda. “Who was that man?” Gwenda asked as soon as he had left.

“His name is Gregory Longfellow. He’s the lawyer hired by Prior Godwyn.”

“Hired for what?”

“Earl Roland has stopped the priory taking stone from its quarry. He’s trying to charge a penny a cartload. Godwyn is going to appeal to the king.”

“Are you involved?”

“Gregory thinks we must argue that the town will be unable to pay its taxes without a bridge. That’s the best way to persuade the king, he says. So my father will go with Godwyn to testify at the royal court.”

“Will you go too?”

“Yes. But tell me why you’re here?”

“I lay with Wulfric.”

Caris smiled. “Really? At last! How was it?”

“It was wonderful. I lay beside him all night while he slept, then when he woke up I… persuaded him.”

“Tell me more, I want all the details.”

Gwenda told Caris the story. At the end, even though she was impatient to get on to the real purpose of her visit, she said: “But something tells me you have news of the same kind.”

Caris nodded. “I lay with Merthin. I told him I didn’t want to get married, and he went off to see that fat sow Bessie Bell, and I got upset at the thought of her sticking out her big tits at him – then he came back, and I was so pleased I just had to do it with him.”

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it. It’s the best thing ever. And it gets better. We do it whenever we get the chance.”

“What if you get pregnant?”

“I’m not even thinking about that. I don’t care if I die. One time -” she lowered her voice – “one time, we bathed in a pool in the forest, and afterwards he licked me… down there.”

“Oh, disgusting! What was it like?”

“Nice. He liked it, too.”

“You didn’t do the same to him.”

“Yes.”

“But did he…?”

Caris nodded. “In my mouth.”

“Wasn’t it foul?”

Caris shrugged. “It tastes funny… but it’s so exciting to feel that happen. And he enjoyed it so much.”

Gwenda was shocked but intrigued. Perhaps she should do that to Wulfric. She knew a place where they could bathe, a stream in the forest far from any roads…

Caris said: “But you didn’t come all this way just to tell me about Wulfric.”

“No. It’s about his inheritance.” Gwenda explained Ralph’s decision. “Philemon thought perhaps Merthin could persuade Ralph to change his mind.”

Caris shook her head pessimistically. “I doubt it. They’ve quarrelled.”

“Oh, no!”

“It was Ralph who stopped the carts leaving the quarry. Unfortunately, Merthin was there at the time. There was a fight. Ben Wheeler killed one of the earl’s ruffians, and Ralph killed Ben.”

Gwenda gasped. “But Lib Wheeler has a two-year-old!”

“And now little Bennie has no father.”

Gwenda was dismayed for herself as well as for Lib. “So a brother’s influence won’t help.”

“Let’s go and see Merthin anyway. He’s working on Leper Island today.”

They left the house and walked down the main street to the riverside. Gwenda was discouraged. Everyone believed her chances were slender. It was so unfair.

They got Ian Boatman to row them across to the island. Caris explained that the old bridge was to be replaced by two new ones which would use the island as a stepping stone.

They found Merthin with his boy assistant, fourteen-year-old Jimmie, laying out the abutments of the new bridge. His measuring stick was an iron pole more than twice the height of a man, and he was hammering pointed stakes into the rocky ground to mark where the foundations must be dug.

Gwenda watched the way Caris and Merthin kissed. It was different. There was a cosy relish in one another’s bodies that seemed new. It matched how Gwenda herself felt about Wulfric. His body was not just desirable, it was hers to enjoy. It seemed to belong to her the way her own body did.

She and Caris watched while Merthin finished what he was doing, tying a length of twine between two stakes. Then he told Jimmie to pack up the tools.

Gwenda said: “I suppose there’s not much you can do without stone.”

“There are some preparations we can make. But I’ve sent all the masons to the quarry. They’re dressing the stones there, instead of here on site. We’re building a stockpile.”

“So, if you win your case in the royal court, you can start building right away.”

“I hope so. It depends on how long the case takes – and the weather. We can’t build in deepest winter, in case the frost freezes the mortar. It’s October already. We normally stop around the middle of November.” He looked up at the sky. “We might have a bit longer, this year – rain clouds keep the earth warm.”

Gwenda told him what she wanted.

“I wish I could help you,” Merthin said. “Wulfric is a decent man, and that fight was entirely Ralph’s fault. But I’ve quarrelled with my brother. Before asking him a favour, I’d have to make friends. And I can’t forgive him for killing Ben Wheeler.”

It was the third negative response in a row, Gwenda thought glumly. Perhaps this was a foolish errand.

Caris said: “You may have to do this on your own.”

“Yes, I will,” Gwenda said decisively. It was time to stop asking for other people’s help, and start relying on herself – the way she had all her life. “Ralph is here in town, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Merthin said. “He came to tell our parents the good news about his promotion. They’re the only people in the county who are celebrating.”

“But he’s not staying with them.”

“He’s too grand for that, now. He’s at the Bell.”

“What would be the best way to persuade him?”

Merthin thought for a few moments. “Ralph feels our father’s humiliation – a knight reduced to the status of a pensioner of the priory. He’ll do anything that seems to enhance his social position.”

Gwenda thought about that as Ian Boatman rowed them all back to the city. How could she present her request as a way for Ralph to raise his standing? It was midday as she walked up the main street with the others. Merthin was going to Caris’s house for dinner, and Caris invited Gwenda to join them, but she was impatient to see Ralph, and she went on to the Bell.

A potboy told her Ralph was upstairs in the best room. Most lodgers slept in a communal dormitory: Ralph was emphasizing his new position by taking an entire room – paid for, Gwenda thought sourly, out of the meagre harvests of Wigleigh peasants.

She knocked at the door and went in.

Ralph was there with his squire, Alan Fernhill, a boy of about eighteen with big shoulders and a small head. On the table between them stood a jug of ale, a loaf and a joint of hot beef with a wisp of steam coming from it. They were finishing their dinner, and looked thoroughly contented with their lot in life, Gwenda thought. She hoped they were not too drunk: men in that state could not talk to women, all they could do was make ribald remarks and laugh helplessly at each other’s wit.

Ralph peered at her: the room was not well lit. “You’re one of my serfs, aren’t you?”

“No, my lord, but I’d like to be. I’m Gwenda, and my father is Joby, a landless labourer.”

“And what are you doing so far from the village? It’s not market day.”

She moved a step farther into the room so that she could see his face more clearly. “Sir, I come to plead for Wulfric, son of the late Samuel. I know that he behaved disrespectfully to you once but, since then, he has suffered the torments of Job. His parents and brother were killed when the bridge collapsed, all the family’s money was lost, and now his fiancee has married someone else. I hope you might feel that God has punished him harshly for the wrong he did you, and it is time for you to show mercy.” Remembering what Merthin had advised, she added: “The mercy characteristic of the true nobleman.”

He belched fruitily and sighed. “What do you care whether Wulfric inherits?”

“I love him, my lord. Now that he has been rejected by Annet, I hope he may marry me – with your gracious permission, of course.”

“Come closer,” he said.

She moved into the centre of the room and stood in front of him.

His eyes roamed all over her body. “You’re not a pretty girl,” he said. “But there’s something about you. Are you a virgin?”

“Lord – I – I-”

“Obviously not,” he laughed. “Have you lain with Wulfric yet?”

“No!”

“Liar.” He grinned, enjoying himself. “Well, now, what if I let Wulfric have his father’s lands after all? Perhaps I should. What then?”

“You would be called a true nobleman by Wigleigh and all the world.”

“The world won’t care. But will you be grateful to me?”

Gwenda had a horrible feeling that she knew where this was leading. “Of course, deeply grateful.”

“And how would you show it?”

She backed towards the door. “Any way I could without shame.”

“Would you take off your dress?”

Her heart sank. “No, lord.”

“Ah. Not so grateful, then.”

She reached the door and touched the handle, but she did not go out. “What… what are you asking me, lord?”

“I want to see you naked. Then I’ll decide.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Alan. “In front of him?”

“Yes.”

It did not seem much, to show herself to these two men – not by comparison with the prize, winning Wulfric’s inheritance back.

Swiftly, she undid her belt and pulled her dress over her head. She held the dress in her hand, keeping the other hand on the doorknob, and stared defiantly at Ralph. He looked greedily at her body, then glanced over at his companion with a grin of triumph; and Gwenda saw that this was about showing his power as much as anything else.

Ralph said: “An ugly cow, but nice udders – eh, Alan?”

Alan replied: “I wouldn’t climb over you to get at her.”

Ralph laughed.

Gwenda said: “Now will you grant my petition?”

Ralph put his hand to his crotch and began to stroke himself. “Lie with me,” he said. “On that bed.”

“No.”

“Come on – you’ve already done it with Wulfric, you’re no virgin.”

“No.”

“Think of the lands – ninety acres, all that his father had.”

She thought. If she agreed, Wulfric would have his heart’s desire – and the two of them could look forward to a life of plenty. If she continued to refuse, Wulfric would be a landless labourer, like Joby, struggling all his life to make enough to feed his children, and often failing.

Still the thought revolted her. Ralph was an unpleasant man, petty and vengeful, a bully – so different from his brother. His being tall and handsome made little difference. It would be disgusting to lie with someone she disliked so much.

The fact that she had done it with Wulfric only yesterday made the prospect of sex with Ralph even more repellent. Alter her night of happy intimacy with Wulfric, it would be a terrible betrayal to do the same with another man.

Don’t be a fool, she told herself. For the sake of five minutes of unpleasantness, will you condemn yourself to a life of hardship? She thought of her mother, and the babies that had died. She remembered the stealing she and Philemon had been forced to do. Was it not better to prostitute herself to Ralph one time, for just a few moments, than to condemn her unborn children to a life of poverty?

Ralph remained quiet while she vacillated. He was wise: any words from him would only have strengthened her revulsion. Silence served him better.

“Please,” Gwenda said at last. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Ah,” he said. “That tells me you’re willing.”

“It’s a sin,” she said desperately. She did not often talk about sin, but she thought there was a chance it might move him. “A sin for you to ask, and a sin for me to agree.”

“Sins can be forgiven.”

“What would your brother think of you?”

That gave him pause. For a moment he seemed to hesitate.

“Please,” she said. “Just let Wulfric inherit.”

His face hardened again. “I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to reverse it – unless you can persuade me. And just saying please won’t work.” His eyes glistened with desire, and he was breathing a little faster, his mouth open, his lips moist behind his beard.

She dropped her dress to the floor and walked to the bed.

“Kneel on the mattress,” Ralph said. “No, facing away from me.”

She did as he said.

“Better view from this side,” he said, and Alan laughed loudly. Gwenda wondered if Alan was going to stay to watch, but then Ralph said: “Leave us alone.” A moment later the door slammed.

Ralph knelt on the bed behind Gwenda. She closed her eyes and prayed for forgiveness. She felt his thick fingers exploring her. She heard him spit, then he rubbed a wet hand on her. A moment later he entered her. She groaned with shame.

Ralph misinterpreted the sound and said: “You like that, eh?”

She wondered how long this would take. He began to move rhythmically. To ease the discomfort she moved with him, and he laughed triumphantly, thinking he had excited her lust. Her greatest rear was that this would sour her entire experience of lovemaking. In future, when she lay with Wulfric, would she think of this moment?

And then, to her horror, a warm flush of pleasure began to spread through her loins. She felt her face redden in shame. Despite her profound repugnance, her body betrayed her, and moisture flooded inside her, easing the friction of his thrusts. He sensed the change and moved faster. Disgusted with herself, she ceased to match his rhythm; but he grabbed her hips, pushing and pulling alternately, and she was helpless to resist. She remembered with dismay that her body had undermined her in the same way with Alwyn in the forest. Then as now, she had wanted her body to be a wooden statue, numb and impassive; both times, it had responded against her will.

She had killed Alwyn with his own knife.

She could not do the same to Ralph, even if she had wanted to, because he was behind her. She could not see him, and she had little control over her body. She was in his hands. She was glad when she sensed that he was approaching the climax. Soon it would be over. She felt an answering pressure in her own loins. She tried to make her body limp and her mind blank: it would be too humiliating if she, too, reached a climax. She felt Ralph ejaculate inside her, and she shuddered, not with pleasure but with loathing.

He sighed with satisfaction, withdrew from her and lay flat on the bed.

She got up and quickly pulled on her dress.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04