Chapter 7 #2
As he and Raoul sat in the guest parlor finishing a fine meal, Galeran said, "You're being remarkably tactful. No questions? No advice?"
"Do you want advice?"
"Yes."
"But will you take it?"
Galeran grinned and mopped up a delicious gravy. "Probably not."
"Then it may be harmless to give it. Put her aside. She's a sorceress."
Galeran stared at him. "A sorceress? "
"Scoff if you want. No one who's under a spell knows it. It's clear the people in the castle think she uses magic."
"The people in the castle think she's strange because she doesn't always act like other women. She does not use magic."
"Then how did she get into your bed today?"
Galeran burst out laughing. "You can ask that? I was like a stallion with a mare in season. She had only to touch me."
Raoul leaned forward, jabbing a finger to emphasize his point. "That's because she persuaded you to that vow of fidelity. I always said it was unnatural."
"I persuaded myself to it, Raoul. It seemed right, considering what we were asking of God. And," Galeran admitted, "I've never wanted or taken another woman."
Raoul's mouth slackened with shock. "There. You see. Bewitched."
"Raoul, you might see that as a sign of bewitchment, but it's only a sign of devotion.
If ever a woman conquers your wandering affections, you'll probably feel the same way.
I met and loved Jehanne before I had much interest in wandering.
And she is a special woman." He saw Raoul gather breath to speak.
"But not a sorceress. She's the most down-to-earth woman I know.
Which reminds me. Don't embarrass Aline. "
Raoul's brows rose. "Your wife's bantam cousin? What have I done to her?"
"Asked her to bathe you."
"Why not?" Then Raoul flashed Galeran a wary glance. "I didn't ask your wife to attend to me. I suggested she send one of the other women."
"That would hardly show proper respect to a guest."
"The situation would never have arisen if the little cousin had attended to it. Why didn't she?"
Galeran poured the last of the wine into their goblets.
"Aline's always been very modest around men, despite being the only girl in a family of boys.
A few years back she went to live at St. Radegund's convent, thinking to take vows there.
She left only because Jehanne needed companionship whilst I was away. "
"Then if men make her nervous, it's time she returned to the cloister."
Galeran smiled wryly. "She's doubtless staying on guard. She's a fierce creature for one so small. But once she's sure I won't hurt Jehanne or the babe, she'll doubtless take the veil."
Raoul sipped the last of his wine. "That seems a waste."
"Why? She's an ideal nun—clever, practical, and with no interest in men."
"I can't quite envision it. But I suppose since nuns are supposed to be brides of Christ, He should get some of the pretty, lively ones."
Galeran almost choked on his wine. "One day, a thunderbolt will come down from the sky to turn you into a cinder." But then he considered his friend. "So," he added thoughtfully, "you find her pretty and lively, do you?"
"Oh, no!" Raoul raised his hands. "Keep your mind on your own affairs. Pretty and lively doesn't mean I want to become entangled with her."
"But—"
"But what are you going to do about your wife? Do you think you can just say, 'There, there, we'll forget all about it'?"
"That's turning the conversation with a heavy hand...." Galeran took a moment to wipe his knife clean, first on the remains of the bread, then on the linen cloth. "No, I don't suppose I can brush it aside when she has her brat at the breast."
He regretted the word brat as soon as it was out. None of this was the child's fault—Donata's fault. He must think of her as Donata. Donata should not suffer for her mother's sin.
"Ah, well." Raoul looked at him far too shrewdly. "Perhaps you'll see your way in time."
By silent agreement they went off to their beds.
Once there, however, Galeran couldn't help but think of Jehanne.
Their loving that morning had eased him, yet could not touch a deeper hunger—the hunger to be with her in harmony as in the past, playing with each other as musicians play with instruments, drawing tunes both new and old simply for the joy of it.
After a sleepless hour, he left the bed and went into the chapel to kneel before the altar and pray.
First he rubbed away the stain of doubt that had crept into his mind.
God did not snatch back gifts because humans were frail.
Galeran knew he had done his best in the Holy Land, that he had played his part in all the battles.
As for his revulsion at the extent of the slaughter in the streets of Jerusalem, his sudden conviction that a true God would not call for this.
.. Well, it had either been a true insight or a weakness of faith, and God would redress the first or forgive the second.
He would not kill a child in revenge.
Galeran continued to pray, and peace settled on his soul.
Jerusalem and Jehanne had both shaken his faith in religion, but they had not touched his belief in divine goodness. In fact, the Holy Land had brought him a deeper, richer vision of God.
There, for the first time, he had truly believed that Jesus of Nazareth had existed—not the glorious lord of the manuscript pictures, but a man, like other men.
As a child He had played with friends in the dust of Bethlehem as Galeran had played at Brome.
As a youth He had set out to take up His place in the world.
As a man He had died in Jerusalem as Galeran had nearly died.
The Christ had built and mended things, laughed and cried, loved and been betrayed by his closest friend.
He had suffered temptation and doubt both in the desert and in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Though He had never fathered a child, Christ had grieved for Lazarus in the grave.
He, if anyone, could understand Galeran's pain, and light a path through the dark.
* * *
The next day they went on their way, still wary. The expedition proved peaceful, however. Day after day the sun blazed from a clear blue sky, but God granted His children the boon of puffy white clouds and breezes to relieve the heat. Even Raoul began to think more kindly of the English climate.
Everywhere, insects, animals, and people labored against harsher times, and the workers in the fields both blessed and cursed the life-giving sun.
On the moors the sheep were glad to be free of their heavy fleece.
In the valleys the peasants rejoiced as the first hay was formed into stacks.
Cattle grazed stoically on thick grass whilst back in cottages and manors their rich milk became butter and cheese.
Little armies of geese, chickens, and ducklings swarmed from spot to spot under the command of children, fattening for the autumn slaughter.
The countryside was bursting with food, and Galeran's hawks regularly brought him tasty birds. Each evening the men and hounds chased rabbits and hare for the pot, and for the joy of the sport.
This was his land, this was his life, and he found its health and welfare healing.
He didn't forget Jehanne's warning, however.
In every hamlet he asked about strangers, but consistently he was told that none had been seen.
Gradually, he relaxed his vigilance. At this busy time it would be hard for armed men to move though the country unobserved, and it offended him to ride on his own land as if among enemies.
In each village and hamlet he made it known that he was home, and available to his people. He was greeted with heartwarming joy and offered new cheese, ripe fruits, and fresh-caught fish.
Yes, it was sweet to be home even if he felt surrounded by a silent question. And what does this mean for the Lady Jehanne?
No one mentioned Gallot. Perhaps it was too difficult a subject, or perhaps it seemed a sorrow too long past. Children died. It was no great event. Except to the parent.
The parent who had never known the child.
He heard no direct complaints about Raymond of Lowick, and it was clear that in general Lowick had managed matters well enough. It was also clear, however, that he had ruled with a heavy hand and had not been above taking more than Heywood was entitled to.
That was not so uncommon in Rufus's England, but it wasn't Galeran's way.
As the days drifted by, and the journey took them farther from Heywood, Galeran found that the simple people had heard little of events at the castle.
Though they knew there had been trouble, they knew nothing of Jehanne's infidelity.
If they'd heard of her second child at all, he was congratulated about it.
Presumably they couldn't count months, or had no idea how far away he had been.
Doubtless they thought the Holy Land was somewhere not far beyond Wales.
Sitting on the ground beneath a tree, earnestly discussing just where one village's fields should end and another's begin, Galeran could almost envy these people their simple lives.
But then a case would be brought before him for judgment, and he'd realize that in their way a village's problems were just as complex as his own.
Biddy of Merton was a thief, the people of Threpton said, who had no right there anyway now that her man was dead.
It seemed to be so, but looking at the defiant young woman, with her sneering mouth and cocked hip, Galeran saw someone alone and frightened.
How was she to survive all alone without stealing?
On the other hand, she didn't strike him as a naturally honest sort, either.
Biddy clearly couldn't remain where she had become so unpopular, so he sent her to Heywood to be employed there. He promised that if she behaved she could have a place, or he'd find her a new husband. If she stole again, she'd be whipped and driven out to fend as best she could.
As Gil and others wanted to have Jehanne whipped.