Pillars of the Earth, book 2 34 страница

Gaspard was young, poor and earnest. He had no fear of the nobility. He was not ambitious – he did not want to become a bishop and join the ruling class – so he felt no need to please aristocrats. He said: “Annet has been cruelly violated, the peace of our village has been criminally broken, and Lord Ralph has committed a wicked, vile sin which he must confess and repent. For the sake of the victim, for our own self-respect, and to save Lord Ralph from the flames of hell, we must go to Lord William.”

There was a rumble of assent.

Wulfric looked at Billy Howard and Annet, sitting side by side. In the end, Gwenda thought, people would probably do what Annet and Billy wanted. “I don’t want trouble,” Billy said. “But we should finish what we’ve started, for the sake of all the women in the village.”

Annet did not raise her eyes from the floor, but she nodded assent, and Gwenda realized with dismay that Wulfric had won.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” she said to him as they left the church.

He grunted.

She persisted: “So, I suppose you will continue to risk your life for the honour of Billy Howard’s wife, while refusing to speak to your own wife.”

He said nothing. Sammy sensed the hostility and began to cry.

Gwenda felt desperate. She had moved heaven and earth to get the man she loved, she had married him and had his baby, and now he was treating her like an enemy. Her father had never behaved this way to her mother – not that Joby’s behaviour was a model for anyone. But she had no idea how to deal with him. She had tried using Sammy, holding him in one arm while touching Wulfric with the other hand, in an attempt to win back his affection by associating herself with the baby boy he loved; but he just moved away, rejecting them both. She had even tried sex, pressing her breasts against his back at night, brushing her hand across his belly, touching his penis, but it did not work – as she might have known, remembering how resistant he had been last summer, before Annet married Billy.

Now, in frustration, she cried out: “What is wrong with you? I only tried to save your life!”

“You should not have done it,” he said.

“If I’d let you kill Ralph, you’d have been hanged!”

“You had no right.”

“What does it matter if I had the right or not?”

“That’s your father’s philosophy, isn’t it?”

She was startled. “What do you mean?”

“Your father believes it doesn’t matter whether or not he has the right to do something. If it’s for the best, he does it. Like selling you to feed his family.”

“They sold me to be raped! I tripped you up to save you from the gallows. That’s completely different.”

“As long as you go on telling yourself that, you’ll never understand him or me.”

She realized she was not going to win back his affection by trying to prove him wrong. “Well… I don’t understand, then.”

“You took away my power to make my own decisions. You treated me the way your father treated you, as a thing to be controlled, not as a person. It doesn’t matter whether I was right or wrong. What matters is that it was up to me to decide, not you. But you can’t see that, just as your father can’t see what he took away from you when he sold you.”

She still thought the two things were completely different, but she did not argue the point, because she was beginning to see what had made him angry. He was passionate about his independence – something she could empathize with, for she felt the same way. And she had robbed him of that. She said falteringly: “I… I think I understand.”

“Do you?”

“At any rate, I’ll try not to do anything of that kind again.”

“Good.”

She only half believed she had been wrong, but she was desperate to end the war between them, so she said: “I’m very sorry.”

“All right.”

He wasn’t saying much, but she sensed he might be softening. “You know that I don’t want you to complain to Lord William about Ralph – but, if you’re determined to, I won’t try to stop you.”

“I’m glad.”

“In fact,” she said, “I might be able to help you.”

“Oh?” he said. “How?”

The home of Lord William and Lady Philippa, at Casterham, had once been a castle. There was still a round stone keep with battlements, though it was in ruins and used as a cowshed. The wall around the courtyard was intact, but the moat had dried up, and the ground in the slight remaining dip was used to grow vegetables and fruit trees. Where once there had been a drawbridge, a simple ramp now led up to the gatehouse.

Gwenda, carrying Sammy, passed under the arch of the gatehouse with Father Gaspard, Billy Howard, Annet and Wulfric. A young man-at-arms was lolling on a bench, presumably on guard, but he saw the priest’s robe and did not challenge them. The relaxed atmosphere encouraged Gwenda. She was hoping to get a private audience with Lady Philippa.

They entered the house by the main door and found themselves in a traditional great hall, with high windows like those of a church. It seemed to take up about half the total space of the house. The rest, presumably, would be personal chambers, in the modern fashion, which emphasized the privacy of the noble family and played down military defences.

A middle-aged man in a leather tunic was sitting at a table counting notches on a tally stick. He glanced up at them, finished his count, made a note on a slate, then said: “Good day to you, strangers.”

“Good day, Master Bailiff,” said Gaspard, deducing the man’s occupation. “We’ve come to see Lord William.”

“He’s expected back by suppertime, father,” the bailiff said politely. “What’s your business with him, may I ask?”

Gaspard began to explain, and Gwenda slipped back outside.

She went around the house to the domestic end. There was a wooden extension that she guessed was the kitchen. A maid sat on a stool by the kitchen door with a sack of cabbages, washing the mud off in a big bowl of water. The maid was young, and looked fondly at the baby. “How old is he?” she said.

“Four months, nearly five. His name is Samuel. We call him Sammy, or Sam.”

The baby smiled at the girl, and she said: “Ah.”

Gwenda said: “I’m just an ordinary woman, like you, but I need to speak to the Lady Philippa.”

The girl frowned and looked troubled. “I’m only the kitchen maid,” she said.

“But you must see her sometimes. You could speak to her for me.”

She glanced behind her, as if worried about being overheard. “I don’t like to.”

Gwenda realized this might be more difficult than she had anticipated. “Couldn’t you just give her a message for me?” she said.

The maid shook her head.

Then a voice came from inside: “Who wants to send me a message?”

Gwenda tensed, wondering if she was in trouble. She looked towards the kitchen door.

A moment later, Lady Philippa stepped out.

She was not quite beautiful, and certainly not pretty, but she was good-looking. She had a straight nose and a strong jaw, and her green eyes were large and clear. She was not smiling, in fact she wore a slight frown, but nevertheless there was something friendly and understanding about her face.

Gwenda answered her question. “I’m Gwenda from Wigleigh, my lady.”

“Wigleigh.” Philippa’s frown deepened. “And what do you have to say to me?”

“It’s about Lord Ralph.”

“I was afraid it might be. Well, come inside and let’s warm that baby by the kitchen fire.”

Many noble ladies would have refused to speak to someone as lowly as Gwenda, but she had guessed that Philippa had a big heart underneath that rather formidable exterior. She followed Philippa inside. Sammy began to grizzle, and Gwenda gave him the breast.

“You can sit down,” Philippa said.

That was even more unusual. A serf would normally remain standing when talking to a lady. Philippa was being kind because of the baby, Gwenda guessed.

“All right, out with it,” Philippa said. “What has Ralph done?”

“You may remember, lady, a fight at the Fleece Fair in Kingsbridge last year.”

“I certainly do. Ralph groped a peasant girl, and her handsome young fiance broke his nose. The boy shouldn’t have done it, of course, but Ralph is a brute.”

“Indeed he is. Last week he came across the same girl, Annet, in the woods. His squire held her down while Ralph raped her.”

“Oh, God save us.” Philippa looked distressed. “Ralph is an animal, a pig, a wild boar. I knew he should never have been made a lord. I told my father-in-law not to promote him.”

“A pity the earl didn’t follow your advice.”

“And I suppose the fiance wants justice.”

Gwenda hesitated. She was not sure how much of the complicated story to tell. But she sensed it would be a mistake to hold anything back. “Annet is married, lady, but to a different man.”

“So what lucky girl got Mr Handsome?”

“As it happens, Wulfric married me.”

“Congratulations.”

“Though Wulfric is here, with Annet’s husband, to bear witness.”

Philippa gave Gwenda a sharp look, and seemed about to comment, then changed her mind. “So why have you come here? Wigleigh is not in my husband’s territory.”

“The incident happened in the forest, and the earl says it was on Lord William’s land, so he can’t adjudicate.”

“That’s an excuse. Roland adjudicates anything he likes. He just doesn’t want to punish a man he’s recently elevated.”

“Anyway, our village priest is here to tell Lord William what happened.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“You’re a woman, you understand. You know how men make excuses for rape. They say the girl must have been flirting, or doing something provocative.”

“Yes.”

“If Ralph gets away with this, he might do it again – perhaps to me.”

“Or me,” said Philippa. “You should see the way he stares at me – like a dog looking at a goose on the pond.”

That was encouraging. “Perhaps you can make Lord William understand how important it is that Ralph should not get away with this.”

Philippa nodded. “I think I can.”

Sammy had stopped sucking and gone to sleep. Gwenda stood up. “Thank you, lady.”

“I’m glad you came to me,” said Philippa.

*

Lord William summoned them the next morning. They met with him in the great hall. Gwenda was glad to see Lady Philippa sitting beside him. She gave Gwenda a friendly look, and Gwenda hoped that meant she had spoken to her husband.

William was tall and black-haired, like his father the earl, but he was going bald, and the dome above the dark beard and eyebrows suggested a more thoughtful kind of authority, matching his reputation. He examined the bloodstained dress and looked at Annet’s bruises, which were blue now, rather than the original angry red. All the same, they brought a look of fury to Lady Philippa’s face. Gwenda guessed it was not so much the severity of the injuries as the grim picture they conjured up of a brawny squire kneeling on a girl’s arms to hold her down while another man raped her.

“Well, you’ve done everything correctly so far,” William said to Annet. “You went immediately to the nearest village, you showed your injuries to men of good reputation there, and you named your attacker. Now you have to offer a bill to a justice of the peace in the Shiring County Court.”

She looked anxious. “What does that mean?”

“A bill is an accusation, written in Latin.”

“I can’t write English, lord, let alone Latin.”

“Father Gaspard can do it for you. The justice will put the bill before an indicting jury, and you will tell them what happened. Can you do that? They may ask for embarrassing details.”

Annet nodded determinedly.

“If they believe you, they will order the sheriff to summon Lord Ralph to the court a month later to be tried. Then you will need two sureties, people who will pledge a sum of money to guarantee that you will appear at the trial.”

“But who will be my sureties?”

“Father Gaspard can be one, and I will be the other. I’ll put up the money.”

“Thank you, lord!”

“Thank my wife, who has persuaded me that I can’t allow the king’s peace to be breached on my territory by an act of rape.”

Annet shot a grateful look at Philippa.

Gwenda looked at Wulfric. She had told her husband about her conversation with the lord’s wife. Now he met her eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement. He knew she had made this happen.

William went on: “At the trial, you will tell your story again. Your friends will all have to be witnesses: Gwenda will say she saw you coming from the forest in your bloodstained dress, Father Gaspard will say you told him what happened, Wulfric will say he saw Ralph and Alan riding away from the scene.”

They all nodded solemnly.

“One more thing. Having started something like this, you can’t stop it. Withdrawing an appeal is an offence, and you would be severely punished – to say nothing of what revenge Ralph might take on you.”

Annet said: “I won’t change my mind. But what will happen to Ralph? How will he be punished?”

“Oh, there’s only one penalty for rape,” said Lord William. “He’ll be hanged.”

*

They all slept in the great hall of the castle, with William’s servants and squires and dogs, wrapping their cloaks around them and nestling into the carpet of rushes on the floor. As the light from the embers in the huge fireplace dimmed to a glow, Gwenda hesitantly reached for her husband, putting a tentative hand on his arm, stroking the wool of his cloak. They had not made love since the rape, and she was unsure whether he wanted her or not. She had angered him grievously by tripping him up: would he feel that her intervention with Lady Philippa made up for that?

He responded immediately, drawing her to him and kissing her lips. She relaxed gratefully into his arms. They toyed with each other for a while. Gwenda was so happy she wanted to weep.

She waited for him to roll on top of her, but he did not do so. She could tell he wanted to, for he was being very affectionate, and his penis was hard in her hand; but perhaps he hesitated to do it in the company of so many others. People did have sex in halls like this, of course; it was normal, and no one took any notice. But perhaps Wulfric felt shy.

However, Gwenda was determined to seal the repair of their love, and after a while she climbed on to him, drawing her cloak over them both. As they began to move together, she saw an adolescent boy watching them, wide-eyed, a few yards away. Adults would politely look the other way, of course, but he was at the age where sex was a captivating mystery, and he obviously could not tear his gaze away. Gwenda was feeling so happy that she hardly cared. She met his eye, then smiled at him, without ceasing to move. His mouth fell open in shock, and he was struck by agonizing embarrassment. Looking mortified, he rolled over and covered his eyes with his arm.

Gwenda pulled her cloak up over her head and Wulfric’s, buried her face in his neck and gave herself up to pleasure.

Caris felt confident the second time she went to the royal court. The vast interior of Westminster Hall no longer intimidated her, nor did the mass of wealthy and powerful people crowding around the judges’ benches. She had been here before, she knew the ropes; everything that had seemed so strange a year ago was now familiar. She even had a dress in the London fashion, green on the right side and blue on the left. She enjoyed studying those around her and reading their lives in their faces: cocksure or desperate, bewildered or sly. She could spot people who were new to the capital by their wide-eyed gaze and their air of uncertainty, and she felt pleasantly knowledgeable and superior.

If she had any misgivings they centred on her lawyer, Francis Bookman. He was young and well informed and – like most lawyers, she thought – he seemed very sure of himself. A small man with sandy hair, quick in his movements and always ready for an argument, he made her think of a cheeky bird on a window ledge, pecking crumbs and aggressively chasing away rivals. He had told them that their case was incontrovertible.

Godwyn had Gregory Longfellow, of course. Gregory had won the case against Earl Roland, and Godwyn had naturally asked him to represent the priory again. He had proved his ability, whereas Bookman was an unknown. However, Caris had a weapon up her sleeve, something that would come as a shock to Godwyn.

Godwyn showed no awareness that he had betrayed Caris, her father and the entire city of Kingsbridge. He had always presented himself as a reformer, impatient of stick-in-the-mud Prior Anthony, sympathetic with the needs of the town, eager for the prosperity of monks and merchants alike. Then, within a year of becoming prior, he had turned to face the opposite way, and become even more of a traditionalist than Anthony. Yet he appeared to feel no shame. Caris flushed with anger every time she thought of it.

He had no right to force the townspeople to use the fulling mill. His other impositions – the ban on hand mills, the fines for private fishponds and warrens – were technically correct, albeit outrageously harsh. But the fulling mill should be free, and Godwyn knew it. Caris wondered whether he believed that any deceit was pardonable provided it was done for the sake of God’s work. Surely men of God should be more scrupulous about honesty than laymen, not less?

She put the point to her father, as they hung around the court, waiting for their case to come up. He said: “I never trust anyone who proclaims his morality from the pulpit. That high-minded type can always find an excuse for breaking his own rules. I’d rather do business with an everyday sinner who thinks it’s probably to his advantage, in the long run, to tell the truth and keep his promises. He’s not likely to change his mind about that.”

In moments such as that, when Papa was his old self, Caris realized how much he had changed. Nowadays he was not often shrewd and quick-witted. More usually, he was forgetful and distracted. Caris suspected the decline had begun some months before she had noticed, and it probably accounted for his disastrous failure to anticipate the collapse of the wool market.

After several days’ wait, they were called before Sir Wilbert Wheatfield, the pink-faced judge with rotten teeth who had ruled for the priory against Earl Roland a year ago. Caris’s confidence began to ebb away as the judge took his seat on the bench against the east wall. It was frightening that a mere mortal should have such power. If he made the wrong decision, Caris’s new cloth-manufacturing enterprise would be blighted, her father would be ruined, and no one would be able to pay for the new bridge.

Then, as her lawyer began to speak, she started to feel better. Francis commenced with the history of the fulling mill, saying how it had been invented by the legendary Jack Builder, who built the first one, and how Prior Philip had given the townspeople the right to use it free.

He then dealt with Godwyn’s counter-arguments, disarming the prior in advance. “It is true that the mill is in bad repair, slow, and prone to frequent breakdowns,” he said. “But how can the prior argue that the people have lost the right to it? The mill is the priory’s property, and it is for the priory to keep it in good repair. The fact that he has failed in this duty makes no difference. The people have no right to repair the mill, and they certainly have no obligation so to do. Prior Philip’s grant was not conditional.”

At this point, Francis produced his secret weapon. “In case the prior should attempt to claim that the grant was conditional, I invite the court to read this copy of Prior Philip’s will.”

Godwyn was astonished. He had tried to pretend that the will had been lost. But Thomas Langley had agreed to look for it, as a favour to Merthin, and he had sneaked it out of the library for a day: time enough for Edmund to have it copied.

Caris could not help enjoying the look of shock and outrage on Godwyn’s face when he found that his deception had been foiled. He stepped forward and said indignantly: “How was this obtained?”

The question was revealing. He did not ask: “Where was it found?” – which would have been the logical inquiry if it had really been lost.

Gregory Longfellow looked annoyed, and waved at him with a hushing gesture; and Godwyn closed his mouth and stepped back, realizing he had given himself away – but it was surely too late, Caris thought. The judge must see that the only reason for Godwyn to be angry was that he knew the document favoured the townspeople, and had attempted to suppress it.

Francis wound up quickly after that – a good decision, Caris thought, for Godwyn’s duplicity would be fresh in the judge’s mind while Gregory made the case for the defence.

But Gregory’s approach took them all completely by surprise.

He stepped forward and said to the judge: “Sir, Kingsbridge is not a chartered borough.” He stopped there, as if that was all he had to say.

It was true, technically. Most towns had a royal charter giving them the freedom to trade and hold markets without obligations to the local earl or baron. Their citizens were free men, owing allegiance to no one but the king. However, a few towns such as Kingsbridge remained the property of an overlord, usually a bishop or a prior: St Albans and Bury St Edmunds were examples. Their status was less clear.

The judge said: “That makes a difference. Only free men can appeal to the royal court. What do you have to say to that, Francis Bookman? Are your clients serfs?”

Francis turned to Edmund. In a low, urgent voice he said: “Have the townspeople appealed to the royal court before?”

“No. The prior has-”

“But not the parish guild? Even before your time?”

“There’s no record of it-”

“So we can’t argue from precedent. Damn.” Francis turned back to the judge. His face changed from worried to confident in a flash, and he spoke as if condescending to deal with something trivial. “Sir, the townspeople are free. They enjoy burgess tenure.”

Gregory said quickly: “There is no universal pattern of burgess tenure. It means different things in different places.”

The judge said: “Is there a written statement of customs?”

Francis looked at Edmund, who shook his head. “No prior would ever agree to such things being written down,” he muttered.

Francis turned back to the judge, “There is no written statement, sir, but clearly-”

“Then this court must decide whether or not you are free men,” the judge said.

Edmund spoke directly to the judge. “Sir, the citizens have the freedom to buy and sell their homes.” This was an important right not granted to serfs, who needed their lord’s permission.

Gregory said: “But you have feudal obligations. You must use the prior’s mills and fishponds.”

Sir Wilbert said: “Forget fishponds. The key factor is the citizens’ relationship to the system of royal justice. Does the town freely admit the king’s sheriff?”

Gregory answered that. “No, he must ask permission to enter the town.”

Edmund said indignantly: “That is the prior’s decision, not ours!”

Sir Wilbert said: “Very well. Do the citizens serve on royal juries, or claim exemption?”

Edmund hesitated. Godwyn looked exultant. Serving on juries was a time-consuming chore that everyone avoided if they could. After a pause, Edmund said: “We claim exemption.”

“Then that settles the matter,” the judge said. “If you refuse that duty on the grounds that you are serfs, you cannot appeal over the head of your landlord to the king’s justice.”

Gregory said triumphantly: “In the light of that, I beg you to dismiss the townspeople’s application.”

“So ruled,” said the judge.

Francis appeared outraged. “Sir, may I speak?”

“Certainly not,” said the judge.

“But, sir-”

“Another word and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

Francis closed his mouth and bowed his head.

Sir Wilbert said: “Next case.”

Another lawyer began to speak.

Caris was dazed.

Francis addressed her and her father in tones of protest. “You should have told me you were serfs!”

“We’re not.”

“The judge has just ruled that you are. I can’t win cases on partial information.”

She decided not to squabble with him. He was the type of young man who cannot admit a mistake.

Godwyn was so pleased with himself that he looked as if he might burst. As he left, he could not resist a parting shot. He wagged a finger at Edmund and Caris. “I hope that, in future, you’ll see the wisdom of submitting to the will of God,” he said solemnly.

Caris said: “Oh, piss off,” and turned her back.

She spoke to her father. “This makes us completely powerless! We proved we had the right to use the fulling mill free, but Godwyn can still withhold that right!”

“So it seems,” he said.

She turned to Francis. “There must be something we can do,” she said angrily.

“Well,” he said, “you could get Kingsbridge made into a proper borough, with a royal charter setting out your rights and freedoms. Then you would have access to the royal court.”

Caris saw a glimmer of hope. “How do we go about that?”

“You apply to the king.”

“Would he grant it?”

“If you argued that you need this to be able to pay your taxes, he would certainly listen.”

“Then we must try.”

Edmund warned: “Godwyn will be furious.”

“Let him,” Caris said grimly.

“Don’t underestimate the challenge,” her father persisted. “You know how ruthless he is, even over small disputes. Something like this will lead to total war.”

“So be it,” said Caris bleakly. “Total war.”

*

“Oh, Ralph, how could you do it?” said his mother.

Merthin studied his brother’s face in the dim light of their parents’ home. Ralph appeared torn between outright denial and self-justification.

In the end, Ralph said: “She led me on.”

Maud was distressed more than angry. “But, Ralph, she is another man’s wife!”

“A peasant’s wife.”

“Even so.”

“Don’t worry, Mother, they’ll never convict a lord on the word of a serf.”

Merthin was not so sure. Ralph was a minor lord, and it seemed he had incurred the enmity of William of Caster. There was no telling how the trial would come out.

Their father said sternly: “Even if they don’t convict you – which I pray for – just think of the shame of it! You’re the son of a knight – how could you forget that?”

Merthin was horrified and upset, but not surprised. That streak of violence had always been in Ralph’s nature. In their boyhood he had ever been ready for a fight, and Merthin had often steered him away from fisticuffs, deflating a confrontation with a conciliatory word or a joke. Had anyone other than his brother committed this horrible rape, Merthin would have been hoping to see the man hang.

Ralph kept glancing at Merthin. He was worried about Merthin’s disapproval – perhaps more so than his mother’s. He had always looked up to his older brother. Merthin just wished there was some way Ralph could be shackled to prevent his attacking people, now that he no longer had Merthin nearby to keep him out of trouble.

The discussion with their distraught parents was set to go on for some time, but there was a knock at the door of the modest house and Caris came in. She smiled at Gerald and Maud, though her face changed when she saw Ralph.

Merthin guessed she wanted him. He stood up. “I didn’t know you were back from London,” he said.

“Just arrived,” she replied. “Can we have a few words?”

He pulled a cloak around his shoulders and stepped outside with her into the dim grey light of a cold December day. It was a year since she had terminated their love affair. He knew that her pregnancy had ended in the hospital, and he guessed she had somehow brought on the abortion deliberately. Twice in the following few weeks he had asked her to come back to him, but she had refused. It was bewildering: he sensed that she still loved him, but she was adamant. He had given up hope, and assumed that in time he would cease to grieve. So far, that had not happened. His heart still beat faster when he saw her, and he was happier talking to her than doing anything else in the world.

They walked to the main street and turned into the Bell. In the late afternoon the tavern was quiet. They ordered hot spiced wine.

“We lost the case,” Caris said.

Merthin was shocked. “How is that possible? You had Prior Philip’s will-”

“It made no difference.” She was bitterly disappointed, Merthin could see. She explained: “Godwyn’s smart lawyer argued that Kingsbridge people are serfs of the prior, and serfs have no right to appeal to the royal court. The judge dismissed the case.”

Merthin felt angry. “But that’s stupid. It means the prior can do anything he likes, regardless of laws and charters-”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04