Chapter 19
Two other nuns accompanied the mother superior, for they had found last time that her body would no longer remain still under the pain. The sisters gripped her arms and turned her, pressing her down to her knees.
"May the Lord forgive his wretched sinner."
Jehanne managed to keep her voice steady as she said, "Amen."
But at the first cut, she screamed and struggled to escape the agony.
Before the third stroke she heard voices. Her only thought was that somehow the interruption had stopped more pain.
A commanding male voice. Galeran? No.
The mother superior, protesting. Arguing.
Then the controlling hands of the two nuns left her arms.
What was happening?
She could hardly hear for shaking, but thought she heard the king mentioned. Was she summoned to the hearing after all?
When she could, she pushed shakily to her feet and turned, still holding on to the prie-dieu for balance.
The mother superior stood by the door, tight-lipped and furious. "The king has sent to halt your penance until after the hearing, Lady Jehanne. I wonder how he discovered it. I will return, however, when it is proper to do so."
She stalked out, but the two other nuns remained. Jehanne realized why when a tall stranger entered. Dark-haired, about her own age, but with an aura of power worthy of the king himself.
"I am FitzRoger, servant to King Henry."
A great deal more than that, Jehanne thought, trying desperately to think straight. She must be ready for whatever twist of fortune was before her.
His clever eyes took her in from head to toe, seeing, she feared, more than she would wish. "Perhaps you should sit, Lady Jehanne."
She'd like to stand straight and dismiss the offer, but she fumbled back onto the plain bench, wishing it weren't so obvious that her legs were shaking.
"I've been whipped a time or two," he remarked. "The body objects even though we would rather it didn't. This was no part of the king's plan, my lady."
His no-nonsense approach steadied her. "I know that. I am told it is a judgment of the Bishop of Durham."
"Who may not have jurisdiction in these matters. However, if anyone thinks it is your husband's duty to punish you, it does seem to have been taken care of."
Jehanne was rather alarmed by his astute reading of the situation. She was not used to trying to handle people whose minds worked so like hers.
"I intend to report on this matter to the king," he said. "In order for my report to be complete, I would like to see your wounds."
"I have no objection. Sisters?"
The two nuns whispered together, then one said, "If he only looks..."
Alarmingly, Jehanne found she was unable to stand and had to ask the nuns to ease off her tunic. Raising her arms was almost impossible with the fresh welts, and she feared she would be sick or faint in the process. Eventually, however, it was off and he walked around to look.
He stayed there longer, surely, than it took to assess her punishment. When he returned to stand in front of her, he said, "I think you should come to Westminster."
"Against the king's command?" It was what she had wanted, but, distressingly, now she felt too shaken and weary to fight directly for her cause.
"I have authority enough to remove you to another confinement closer to the king. He may wish to see for himself."
"I'll soon feel like a monster on display at the fair." But those were silly words, and she stood carefully.
FitzRoger had turned to discuss transport with the nuns. He soon turned back. "Can you ride? They have a cart, but horseback—or, rather, jennetback—might be more bearable."
"I trust in God to give me strength to do anything if I must."
"My philosophy exactly, my lady." And he gestured toward the open door.
It was astonishingly sweet to step into sunshine and smell the flowers. So sweet it almost weakened Jehanne to tears. But then she recollected her situation and turned to FitzRoger. "We must take my baby, the nurse, and my cousin Aline too."
It appeared he did have authority enough, for the party was soon assembled, and the mother superior appeared to argue only when she heard that they were taking her mount. FitzRoger stepped aside to have words with her, and the woman paled and stalked away.
"She meant well," said Jehanne when he returned to her side. "She thinks I deserve the punishment. And she was following the orders of a bishop."
"A singularly pernicious excuse." He shook his head at her. "It seems you are as forgiving as your husband."
"Oh, not at all."
Jehanne rode, with the rest of the party walking, for there was no speed in riding through the crowded streets. It hurt to ride, but it hurt to do anything but lie very still on her stomach, and when her breasts filled with milk, that wasn't particularly comfortable, either.
In fact, she did feel that she had perhaps suffered enough, and as they wended their way through the crowds to the king's hall, the suffocating burden of guilt she had borne for a year or more began to slide from her.
She took to praying, finding perhaps a touch of the sense of God that Galeran had. Christ had been whipped too, and since he had known his fate and embraced it, he, too, had accepted the pain for the greater good.
She grimaced. She could imagine what Galeran would say to that. Her thinking of herself as like the Son of God.
Instead, she addressed her prayers meekly, reverently, to Mary, Mother of God. But even then she couldn't help wondering if Mary had ever wanted to step in and turn her beloved Son from His painful course.
She really wasn't very good at meekness.
Despite that, the prayers and thoughts helped Jehanne handle the journey, but by the time she reached Westminster Hall she was almost faint and had to be helped into the building.
Soon she was in a comfortable small room that contained a tented couch.
She lay on it in relief, as much at being able to hide a tendency to tears as to ease her pain.
She didn't look, but sensed that FitzRoger left. Would he go straight to the king? Would he tell Galeran? She longed for Galeran but could imagine his anger at what she had accepted.
She could argue that she'd had no choice about the beatings, but when she sent Aline out to find help, she could have sent her to Galeran to put a stop to it.
She hadn't.
And he'd know why.
This separation from Galeran, spiritual more than physical, was a pain far deeper than her sore back.
She had never realized, when she'd sent him on crusade, just how much she would miss him.
With typical carelessness, she'd not considered how he was warp to the weft of her life, part of her every thought and action; how much she depended on him being there ready to discuss, argue, advise, object, comfort.
She'd felt almost half alive all the time he'd been gone, despite Gallot and the comfort of Aline's presence. Perhaps, she thought for the first time, her seduction of Raymond had not been out of grief and anger alone, but out of a loneliness made absolute by the loss of her child.
That loss brought tears to her eyes. Or perhaps they came from the loneliness which still lingered because her sin stood between her and Galeran. And now her actions might make it worse.
Sweet Mary, but angry or not, she needed him here beside her...
Someone entered.
Jehanne turned her head sharply enough to hurt, but it wasn't Galeran. It wasn't anyone she knew. A monk.
He nodded. "I am Brother Christopher, my lady. I have a salve for your injuries, if you will permit..."
Jehanne nodded and Aline came over to help uncover her back by the simple means of slitting the tunic neck to hem.
Jehanne heard Aline gasp, and wondered just how bad it was. "Is the skin broken?" she asked.
"Nay, Lady," said the monk, spreading the cloth a little wider. "Your clothes protected you from that. The damage is mostly bruising and swelling. Very painful, I'm sure, but it should cause no scars, and the risk of infection is small."
He began to spread something cool on her back.
His first touch was painful, but soon the soothing effect took over.
Jehanne sighed and relaxed. Vaguely, she remembered that Aline had been out all night, perhaps with Raoul, and that this should concern her.
That the hearing was taking place close by and she should, perhaps, think about forcing her way in after all.
But her tormented mind had eased and refused to tangle itself again. She slept.
* * *
Galeran had left early for Westminster, despite the fact that Raoul had not returned with further word of Aline. Despite the fact that the messenger he'd sent to Waltham to keep his father informed had not returned either.
He'd been driven. Driven by his concern about Jehanne and Donata. Driven by his hunger to be home again with all these things settled.
Driven, he knew, into leaving foolishly early as if that would have things settled sooner.
He did have some purpose. He hoped to have a word with the king's champion, FitzRoger.
Galeran's travels had taught him that great men were temperamental and often let their foibles interfere with justice.
Henry had enjoyed many liaisons, and acknowledged a number of bastards.
How would that affect his view of Galeran's affairs?
A talk with FitzRoger might tell him something useful.
FitzRoger was not in Westminster, however, so Galeran was left to pace a small room, waiting for the hour of the hearing.
Surely Henry's personal tastes would mean he thought little of adultery. That would lessen Jehanne's danger. Galeran was determined she come out of this without being punished in any way.
On the other hand, as Aline had pointed out, Henry had promised to restore law and order in England. Adultery and bastards were an offense to all men.