Knight Errant (16 page)

“Do not delude yourself. You would make an ideal wife.”

“Impossible. I am stubborn and argumentative. I care nothing for profit or prestige. I prefer giving orders over taking them and am entirely too used to having my own way.”

“True enough. However, you can not only manage but restore a household. You endear servants to you with very little trouble. You have more courage than is good for you. You have knowledge of healing and every other household skill necessary for a wife. And if you care naught for profit, you know how to both save a penny and make one from your own labor and that of your servants. As Edward’s cousin, you were born into
courtoise
, but you have a grace of manner that enhances that natal gift. When you marry, you will give up having your own way as part of your marriage vows.”

“Which is precisely why I will not wed.”

Robert shook his head. “’Tis glad I am that I will not have the duty to change your mind. I pity the man Edward yokes you to, for teaching you obedience will be his work.”

Should Edward somehow manage to force her to wed, Juliana would pity both her future husband and herself.
For ’twill surely be the death of me, if I must yield all to a man’s nonsense
. Suddenly, she was angry at a world and a church that placed women lower than the dumbest of beasts in relation to God, at men who used that church to visit endless abuse on their wives and daughters, and most of all at the women who believed what they were told of their position in the world, who believed they were by nature evil, as if the devil, not God, had created them. The anger made her more determined than ever to see the wrongheaded teachings about women changed.

“And you, when you take a wife, will you teach her obedience?”

“I will never take a wife.”

“What? You chastise me for refusing to wed when you will not do so yourself.” His apparent hypocrisy touched a nerve and incensed her even more.

“You do not understand.” His voice tightened.

“Oh, I understand all too well,” she continued, heedless of the tightening of his shoulders and back. “You would condemn me to marriage but not yourself.”

“Take care what you say. You know naught of what you speak.”

“Can you guarantee this Scot whom you would have me wed does not share the opinion that a woman lacks sufficient brain to think for herself? Can you tell me he does not believe the priests who teach that women are by nature evil and will fail to gain salvation without the guidance of men? Can you promise that he does not give guidance with his fists, like other men I’ve met?”

Robert pulled the horse to a stop, shifted the reins to one hand, then twisted in the saddle and glared at her.

“’Tis not I who would have you wed the Scot, but Edward, our king,” he snarled. “And while I have never yet willingly harmed any woman, you have tempted me to violence on several occasions. Thus far, I have resisted. Do not push me further, or you may find I am more like those other men than you could ever imagine. For peace’s sake, we will speak no more of husbands, wives, men, and women. Do you understand me?” His clenched fist beat on his thigh.

Juliana gulped and nodded. For the time being, she would not further brave his wrath. She felt her smile falter and did her best to restore it. Robert was courageous, noble, and self-sacrificing to a fault. How could he imagine he was anything like the majority of other men she had known?

They rode on in strained silence, the brief comradeship of the morning gone. While they talked, the rain stopped. The sun peeked out, warming her and causing the fine wool of her clothing to itch unbearably. She squirmed and shifted, seeking comfort and finding none.

Other riders approached, and the walls of Palermo loomed in the distance. “Will you be still?” Robert muttered.

“I cannot. My clothing scratches.”

“Try for patience. The beguinage is within sight. There you may wash and wash again until nothing of your current discomfort remains.”

She leaned to the side and looked ’round him. Indeed, the welcome sight of their destination lay within view. She felt anticipation rise. “’Twill be good to get home. I will have Berthild and Gretle tend to your ankle while I arrange baths for both of us. Then I intend to sleep for a week.”

“Do not get too comfortable, Milady.” He spoke sternly, his shoulders still held in a rigid, angry line. “We must leave for England within the week. Edward wants you at court before All Hallow’s.”

“’Tis two months yet to All Hallow’s. Surely we can spend a day or so to regain our strength and allow your ankle to heal before embarking on such an arduous journey.” She intended her statement to reassure him that she had no intention of trying to escape her vow to return to England. He must have taken her meaning, since his shoulders relaxed a bit. He guided their mount between the beguinage gates and halted just within the courtyard.

The noise of loud braying and many raised voices greeted them. Had the animals broken from their stables? Bend and twist as she might, from her position behind Robert, Juliana could not see.

“Put that box back,” shrilled a voice. “This is the wrong place.”

“I tell you, this must be the place. ’Tis exactly where that merchant said it would be,” screeched another.

“He must be mistaken. If this were a beguinage, ’twould be filled with the poor and the sick, to say naught of our sisters. Productive activity should throng the air with sound. This house is deserted.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

Juliana slid from the horse. The chaos that met her eyes both appalled and delighted her. She recognized the new arrivals—Beguines from Ghent.

“What goes on here?” Robert bellowed. His posture stiffened.

Save for the quacking of a lone duck, the animals fell silent. All speech halted, and the women froze where they stood. ’Twas almost funny. “Welcome, sisters.”

“Juliana. ’Tis glad we are to see you.” Sister Anna stepped forward. “Where are Berthild, Gretle, and your servants? We need help to care for the animals, to sort and store our belongings and supplies.”

“And I am glad to see all of you. I have been away and cannot tell you where the others are. Until I can discover that, we must take care of ourselves. With a bit of patience and effort, we can all soon be seated in the kitchen, eating a hot meal. Then we will work out how to assign quarters and where to stow belongings. For now let us get the animals unloaded and cared for. Give me but a moment to speak with my escort.”

She moved back to where Robert still sat atop his horse.

“I know you are weary, but our friends and servants seem to have disappeared. Could you go into the town and see if you can discover what happened to them? I must remain here to help settle the new arrivals.”

Robert nodded, his expression impassive. “I will return as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. I owe you a great deal.”

“We will not speak of debts. I but do my duty.”

She watched him leave, her heart aching for them both. Duty seemed the only constant in his life, and he would not even have that if she followed her planned course and did not return to England with him. He would hate her. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to the task at hand.

She gave instructions to the various sisters and soon neat stacks of supplies and personal items lined the courtyard walls. The mules were led to the stables, where they were fed. Two women were dispatched to open bedchambers and make up beds. When all the tasks were done, the women gathered in the kitchen and made a cheerful, noisy business of preparing a meal.

How I have missed this
. Juliana had not realized how lonely she had felt here. Dear as Berthild and Gretle were, they did not make up for the camaraderie of a large varied group of women with a common goal.

The new arrivals numbered ten in all. She gazed on each one affectionately, discussing news of friends left behind in Ghent as she moved about the table.

When the meal came to an end, chambers were assigned, and the younger Beguines began the labor of distributing supplies and belongings. Soon Juliana found herself in the kitchen, settled with her back to the door, across from the most senior of the newly arrived women.

“You have done well, Juliana, for the short time you have been in Palermo,” said Sister Anna Maria Costanza y Garcia.

Juliana poured the thick, dark
caffe
that the weeks in Palermo had taught her to love. She would miss this if she left, but not as much as she would miss these women. Their cheerful empathy and enthusiasm for life would find no equal in the guarded court life of London or the wilds of Scotland.

“Thank you, Sister Anna. Beguines are not greatly loved here, but we are tolerated. Men seem to hold the same view of women no matter what the country.”

“They despise us as evil? I had hoped to escape the sort of persecution Basti’s deputies spread throughout our native lands.”

“Unfortunately, even in Palermo, Basti’s minions stoke fear of the Beguines, but I have not encountered that form of persecution from the Saracens. They seem to regard women as brainless children or beautiful toys to be kept safe, even from ourselves.”

“How did you manage to obtain the coin needed to support yourselves, if women are so constricted here?”

“A local Saracen merchant agreed to market our goods for a small commission. The arrangement works quite well, but few come to us for charity for fear that they will suffer the wrath of
Il Mano de Dei
.”

Sister Anna sipped at her
caffe
. “You have an alarming tendency to attract the worst attention from the worst of men, Juliana. First Basti in Ghent, now this local animosity.”

The heat in Juliana’s cheeks became a fire. “I know, Sister Anna. I do not do it deliberately.”

“Since Basti’s persecutions have increased and spread in your absence, I am certain ’tis not your fault. Though I must tell you, his deputies inquired about you at several points along our journey. ’Tis a good thing you came to Palermo. I doubt Basti will reach you here.”

Given the incident with the monk, Juliana knew otherwise, and the news that Basti looked specifically for her was greatly disturbing. The priest was extremely powerful and had the pope’s ear. They might well know of the documents that lay hidden in what was now her room. If Basti succeeded in finding her, those letters would either remain hidden or be destroyed. She could not allow that. Plainly keeping the existence of the documents to herself was too dangerous. Sister Anna was older and had much more experience of the world than Juliana. As a fellow Beguine, Anna would share the same concerns. Her arrival at this moment was fortuitous, for Juliana desperately needed counsel she could trust.

Juliana rose to open the portal behind her and check to be certain no one was nearby. Then she closed the door and returned to her seat.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked.

“I have information I need to share with you, but you must tell no one else until we decide what action is best.”

“You alarm me.” Worry flushed Anna’s features.

“You are right to be alarmed. When Sister Angelina—one of the Beguines who used to live here—told me she had letters proving the current pope was her lover before he was in orders, I was alarmed too. I became frightened when she added that, in a fit of guilt, the pope had sent her several letters, including an original epistle of Peter . . .”

“Peter, the rock on which the church stands? The first pope?”

“Yes, that Peter. I will show you the documents tonight in my chamber, and you may see for yourself. This epistle explained his reversal on the place of women in the church. He states that the feminine virtues are greatly misunderstood and misrepresented, and it is through the feminine that true communion with the trinity takes place.”

Anna’s flush of worry drained away, replaced by a shocked pallor. “Sacrilege.”

“Indeed. But which is sacrilege, forbidding women the priesthood or elevating them to it?”

“Tell me, was this beguinage attacked because of those letters?”

“Angelina believed it was. She believed the weavers who attacked the Beguines and burnt the building were incited to do so by Basti’s deputies.”

“Those letters must be broadcast, and in great quantities.”

“Yes, but from where? Sicily is too remote and small, with too few people we can trust. Copying the letters here in sufficient quantities to make any impact would take years. Also with Basti involved, the ports could be watched, and any cargoes searched and confiscated.”

“I agree. We should think this out carefully. We must find a way to get copies to other beguinages in major cities throughout the continent. Each beguinage could make more copies and distribute them. With exact copies coming from so many directions, the church could not confiscate them all and would have to recognize women as priests or abolish the priesthood—which would be an even more satisfying victory for our sisterhood.”

The hope in Anna’s voice inspired a decision. Juliana sat forward. “I know how we can distribute copies.”

“How?”

“I will not be staying in Palermo. I can carry the copies and distribute them as I travel.” Her hands clutched her cup. For so long, she wished unspoken her vow to return to England. In the end she would be forced to defy Edward in person, but for this cause she would face down the devil himself.

“No, another can go. Basti is too interested in you personally. Besides, you are nee . . .”

Astonishment glazed the elder Beguine’s eyes.

“What? What is it?” Juliana turned to see what caused Anna to halt in mid-speech.

Robert filled the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a rough crutch beneath his opposite shoulder, and a frown on his face. Berthild, Gretle, Shabaka, and two young men peered around from behind him.

“Robert.” Juliana leapt up, relieved to see him. He’d been so cold when he’d left in search of their companions, she’d half-expected him not to return. She grasped his arm and urged him toward the table. “I am so glad you are returned home. Come, sit down and meet Sister Anna. Berthilde, Gretle, Shabaka, join us please. Robert, your friends are welcome to share our
caffe
.”