Chapter 18 #2
Why, by Saint Sever, didn't they take her inside somewhere?
He waited, counting slowly, but nothing changed. Oh, well, their attention seemed so focused on Aline, and he'd have to take his chances.
The porch opened into the cloister walk, which went around all four sides of the garden.
The walk itself was deep, roofed, and fronted by pillared arches so that in the sunlight it was shadowed.
With luck, even if one of the nuns saw him, they'd see just a shadowy figure and assume him to be one of the community.
Raoul walked normally, therefore, as he left the porch, turned right, and headed toward Jehanne's room.
He wasn't actually intending to go to her door, since it was too close to the nuns and would be locked.
He had his eye open for a passage through to the back of the rooms. He could talk to Jehanne through the small window.
Unfortunately, he didn't find any passageway at all.
It didn't seem right to curse in a religious house, but he did it anyway, silently. He couldn't go any farther, or he'd be too close to the chattering, exclaiming nuns. There didn't seem a lot of point in going back.
There had to be a way to other parts of the convent, but it must be through one of the many doors.
Which door?
He was trying to decide, when Jehanne took a hand. She suddenly started calling, "Someone! What is going on? Is that Aline? What's happened?"
Then she thumped on her door. Hastily moving back toward the bend of the cloister, Raoul judged her alarm to be genuine, and quite reasonable. All she would be able to hear would be her cousin's cries.
As Raoul watched, a figure emerged from the huddle.
The mother superior stalked over to Jehanne's door, pulling a key out of a pouch on her belt.
Opening the door, she snapped, "Compose yourself, Lady Jehanne.
Your foolish cousin has returned, and appears unharmed though much distressed.
" She then slammed the door and marched back to her community.
"Bring the girl into the chapter house. This is all most disorderly. A terrible disruption..."
But as her voice faded and the group flowed off into a building, a wild-haired, limp Aline in their midst, Raoul noticed that she really had been disrupted. She'd left the key in the lock. In moments the cloister was deserted and Raoul could slip down, turn the lock, and enter Jehanne's cell.
She was pacing, but she froze at his entrance, staring as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
Which was hardly surprising.
Then she gasped, "Oh, Sweet Mary be praised! It was all a ruse? Thank heavens." She was already heading for the door, but he grasped her shoulders to stop her.
She cried out.
He instantly let her go, watching as she panted, then controlled her breathing.
He didn't need to be told. "You've been beaten?"
She straightened as if nothing were the matter, and he thought she might refuse to answer. But then she grimaced. "Every three hours."
"Holy Father! By whose orders?"
"Bishop Flambard's."
It took him a moment to control his own feelings. "Why didn't you say anything? Galeran or I could have stopped this."
She was once more controlled and cool, however. Once more the Jehanne he had come to admire, and perhaps to fear.
"I didn't want it stopped."
"You take pleasure in pain?"
"Am I mad?"
"Why, then?" But he could guess.
"You know as well as I do that I deserve to be beaten. That the world will never be content until I am punished..."
"And this way Galeran will not be forced to do it," he completed. She was right, and even though his instincts protested her acting against her husband's wishes, he admired her for her courage.
He still couldn't help wishing she were a less militant woman, and he didn't want to be around when Galeran heard about this.
"There's another advantage," she was saying, and she even smiled with satisfaction. "I don't think the king will be happy that the bishop has taken action before he has a chance to rule on the matter."
Raoul realized he was gaping, and closed his mouth. His mother and sisters were not weak or silly women, but he didn't think any of them would be willing to accept a beating every few hours for such a logical, political reason.
Yet again, though, she was right. She'd created a weapon they could use against Flambard.
"What were you intending to do?" he asked. "Burst in on the king and bare your back?"
She began to answer, but then stared at him. "What do you mean, 'intending'?" If she'd been a man, he'd have prepared to defend himself.
"I am not going to help you escape from here, Jehanne. It would not work in your favor with the king, believe me. However, I will take your words to him."
Even though she was weaponless, danger flickered in her eyes, but in the next moment he saw her consider his words and accept them, no matter how reluctantly. It was probably the reluctance that made her swing away to face the crucifix on the wall.
By the Cross, she was a woman in a million.
Thanks be. Many more like her and the world would shiver and fall.
"Do you have any idea how hard I find this?" she asked.
Raoul remembered sympathizing with her about having to stand and watch.
Perhaps the key to understanding Jehanne was to put himself in her place.
He'd hate to have to just wait for his fate, and that of the ones he loved, to be decided by others.
He didn't know if he could meekly accept beating after beating in their cause, though.
He was a fighter, not a martyr, and at heart, he thought, so was she.
"I think I do understand," he said gently. "But if you want to help Galeran, you must stay here, hard though it will be." Then, however, he stopped his pious lecture. "Hell's cinders. That means another beating."
She turned back to face him. "That doesn't matter." Astonishingly, he could see she meant it. "What does matter is that the king give Donata to us, not Raymond. And that Galeran and Raymond not fight. I will do anything to achieve those ends."
Raoul raised his brows. "Do you not believe Galeran can win? Even if you think him the lesser warrior, do you not believe that God will decide right from wrong?"
"God probably has better things to do," she said testily, "but I'm sure Galeran has a fair chance of winning. I saw him fight you."
"So?"
"So Raymond does not deserve to die."
It was as if the earth had changed to quicksand beneath Raoul's feet. "Are you telling me your concern is for him?"
"Yes." She met his anger without flinching. In fact, with exasperation. "I love Galeran more than life itself, Raoul! But I cannot let an innocent man suffer to ease my way."
"Innocent?"
"What did he do, this dark villain? He loved me. Poor fool, he still does. His feelings are as much for Heywood as for myself, but it is love all the same. He hoped Galeran was dead. That might be uncharitable, but it is hardly an offense worthy of death...."
"He committed adultery with you!"
Her color flared then, but she spoke calmly. "Have you never had sex with a willing married woman?" Before he could find a way to make 'yes' sound like 'no,' she went on. "Do you deserve to die for it?"
"If the husband had caught me at it, perhaps."
She cocked her head slightly, looking almost amused. "So, Raoul, do you think you can take my words to the king and make my arguments persuasively?"
He muttered words that shouldn't be spoken in such a place, imagining himself standing before the king of England and his advisers, with Galeran by his side, and trying to make this case. By the Nails and Spear, he wished he were safe home in Guyenne.
But he could see what the cunning woman was up to.
"You are still not leaving here, Jehanne."
"You cannot make a case you don't believe in." The tightening of her face showed that she'd hoped to scare him off the task. He admired her, but he'd like to throttle her too.
"I'll do my best. Now, let me see your back. I need to be able to swear to it."
She glared at him, but puffed out a defeated breath, disconcertingly like Aline for a moment. Then, wincing, she pulled off her embroidered tunic and turned. "I split the back of my kirtle so it would be easily seen."
He'd seen men flayed by a whip, and this wasn't so bad, but his jaw clenched at the sight of the network of swollen weals. It must be exquisitely tender to the touch, and yet she was willing to stay here to receive more strokes.
Irrationally, he again wanted to throttle her.
"How many strokes each time?" he asked, hearing the gruffness in his own voice.
"Ten." She turned back and her face paled as she tried to pull her tunic over her head.
He went to help her. "You can't take another ten."
The words were foolish and her look told him she thought so too. People could take the pain they had to. The only escape was death.
He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. "When Galeran finds out I left you here..." He shook his head at the mere thought. "Come on. I'll get you out. Though I don't know how you're going to climb the wall—"
"No." She stepped away from his guiding hand.
"You're correct about the king. Submission will carry more weight than intrusion.
And think how my sufferings will cut my time in purgatory.
" She threw it out as a joke, but her calm strength broke for a moment, causing her lips to tremble before she bit them.
"Of your kindness, though, my friend, try to release me before sext. "
He put out a hand to cradle her head, and drew her against his chest. She neither held him nor resisted, but the way she leaned for a moment told him much.
"It will soon be over," he said. "And I swear on my eternal soul to make sure that your sufferings are not in vain, that your cause is upheld. You have fought your fight and deserve victory. You will have your daughter, and Galeran, safe. And Raymond of Lowick will not die."
She pulled back at that, almost her usual self. "Or suffer in any significant way."