The Wise Woman (62 page)

There was silence for a few moments. Alys saw that Catherine’s constant tears had dried on her cheeks. Underneath the rosy plumpness of Catherine’s face the old hard lines were beginning to show again.

“Who will they marry him to?” Catherine asked. “Have they written to anyone?”

Alys kept her voice level, her joy and confidence concealed. “Lord Hugh has made no approaches,” she said. She waited for Catherine to guess that Alys would be the new lady, waited for her explosion of rage, of jealousy which would carry her out of the castle in a fit of pique and then beach her outside, never to return, in a little manor farm, visited only now and then by David with unwanted goods from the castle. Impoverished. Alone.

“I suppose they will wait until the annulment has gone through,” Catherine said. Alys smiled inwardly at Catherine’s stupidity. “Then they will look about them for a girl, a young girl, fertile and strong and wealthy. That’s who they will wait for. Some noble little thing who will fall passionately in love with Hugo as I did. And then wear away her life with longing and jealousy—as I have done. And then wait and wait for a child from him. For it is
he
who has no seed. It is
he
who is corrupt.”

Alys kept her face down so Catherine could not see her smile. There was no young noble bride in the offing. There was no list of candidates. Alys was as close to Lord Hugh as anyone in the castle. If there had been marriage plans for Hugo then Alys would have known—even before Hugo himself. The annulment was planned. A second marriage would be left to Hugo’s desires, to Lord Hugh’s preference. Alys knew that when Catherine left the castle the new lady would be Alys.

Catherine threw back the covers of the bed and went to the window. She drew back the curtains and flung open the shutters. The morning sunlight poured into the room, the dust from the strewing herbs dancing in the sunbeams.

“Look at him,” she said with deep resentment. “Blithe as ever.”

Alys went to her side. In the courtyard below, Hugo was detaining Alys’s new serving-girl, Mary, with one casual hand on her arm.

“Who is she?” Catherine said in a half-whisper.

“A new girl, my maidservant. David found her in Castleton to wait on me,” Alys said. She could feel herself getting breathless; deep in her belly she felt her pulse speeding with jealousy.

Hugo’s laugh echoed around the courtyard, they could see Mary toss back her hair and smile at him.

From the round tower behind them, the prison tower, a soldier came out of the little doorway and strolled down the external stone stairs, calling some jest to Hugo. The watching women could see Mary shrug her shoulders and laugh.

“So now
you
know,” Catherine said triumphantly. “Now you know how I felt when they brought you in, straight off the moor, and I saw Hugo turn and watch you every time you crossed a room. They called you one of my ladies but I knew you were here for
their
delight—Hugo’s and the old lord’s. It killed me inside to see him burning for you. And now you can watch your maid, a silly ignorant girl, and see Hugo burning for her. And every time she walks across the room you will see him turn his head away from you and watch her.”

Alys leaned against the window-sill and looked down, the stone wall cold and hard against her. Hugo had his arm around Mary’s waist, he was whispering in her ear. Mary had leaned back along his arm, her neck seductively stretched, the tops of her breasts showing over her bodice. As Hugo’s wife and Hugo’s mistress silently watched, Hugo dropped his dark head and kissed her neck and her breasts. They heard Mary’s ripple of laughter and then she pushed him away. She ran a few steps from him, as if she were unwilling, and then she glanced at him over her shoulder, inviting the chase. When he did not follow, she set her basket on her jutting hip and swayed across the courtyard. Hugo stood and lazily watched her walk away until she was out of sight.

“How long do you think she will hold out against him?” Catherine asked. “A month? A week? Until tonight?” She gave a cracked, bitter laugh and leaned back against the bedpost. “It was always better, I found, if they gave in swiftly. He gets bored then. The worst agony for me was when he was hot for you. You delayed so long. It was such pain for me, waiting and waiting for him to have his fill of you and come back to me.”

Alys shook her head. She could not match the torment and storm-lit madness of last night with Hugo’s prosaic flirtation in the sunny courtyard.

“Only last night we were lovers,” she said unguardedly. “How could he want a slut like her today? We were together in madness last night. How could he wake and want her?”

“He used to go from my bed to yours without even pausing,” Catherine replied. “Hugo’s infidelities happen at speed. You, of all people, should know that.”

Alys nodded. “But last night…” she said. She broke off. Catherine was right. Of all women she should have known of the fickleness of men’s desire. From her earliest childhood she had heard Morach warning girls wanting love potions that you can arouse lust but not liking. You can hex someone to obsession but not to affection.

“Do you love him?” Catherine asked curiously.

“No,” Alys replied absently. “I did, at first. I was sick with love for him, I gambled everything—my soul itself—to make him love me. But since then…” She sighed. “I sometimes desire him,” she said. “And I need him now to keep my place here. I like to be the lady here, I like to be first with him and with his father. But I cannot say I love him tenderly. I have only loved one person tenderly.”

She thought of the old woman in the cottage on the moors coming out into the innocent sunshine at the sound of the horses, and then the soldiers taking her roughly and bundling her on a horse behind some lad who would crack jokes and call her “Grandma” and then sling her down like a sack in Appleby market. “And I think I may have failed in my love for her,” Alys said evasively.

“Morach?” Catherine guessed.

Alys thought of the old corpse rolling round and round in the roiling waters of the cave. “Not Morach,” she said. “But it is true that I failed her too.”

Catherine slid an arm around Alys’s waist. “When I go will you come with me? To the manor farmhouse? We could live together, Alys, you could practice your healing. We would be comfortable.”

She hesitated, glancing sideways at Alys. “I would care for you. I would protect you. I would be like a husband to you. I desire you, Alys. I wanted you the night that Hugo brought you to me, and I had desired you before. It was my idea that he should have us both. He tempted me into telling my desires once, and I told him that I longed for you.

“Even when you were my rival I hated you and wanted you, all at once. I used to think of Hugo lying with you and I longed for you both, I envied you both. You—because you had Hugo at your beck. And he—because he could lie on you and master you. I longed to see you together, your body and his. But now, since I lost the baby, I hate Hugo. I hate the thought of him and his foul seed. But I still want you. I dream of you.”

Alys stepped out of Catherine’s cuddling arm, her mind whirling with possibilities. “I don’t know,” she said, playing for time. “I never thought.”

Catherine’s face was eager. Alys felt her power flowing through her as she saw Catherine’s need for her, Catherine’s desire. Alys laughed softly, seductively. “I never knew you desired me, Catherine,” she said. “I never knew.”

Catherine reached out for Alys once more, pulled at her waist. “I would keep you safe,” she said urgently. “Here in the castle, if Hugo tires of you, you are lost. When the old lord dies they will blame you for his death, perhaps charge you with witchcraft. Have you thought of that? But with my money and my land I can keep you safe.”

“I am safe here,” Alys objected. “Hugo may flirt with a serving-wench but he desires no one but me. I will have a place here long after Mary is out on the streets of Castleton plying her trade as a whore. Hugo will never tire of me.”

Catherine nodded. “Not now,” she said. “But later. When the new wife comes in, she may demand that you are sent away. If she is young, noble, and beautiful, Hugo will do everything he can to please her. She will snub you and insult you. She will bring her own women and you will have nothing to do in the gallery. They will tease you and abuse you. And when Hugo comes to sit with them they will laugh and say you are awkward and foolish and out of fashion. Your gowns will be wrong, Alys, and they will laugh at your speech and even at your healing. They will mortify you and humble you and then laugh at your pain. I can save you from that, from humiliation when the new wife comes in. And I would like to live in a manor-house with you. Far from Hugo, far from his father. Just you and me with a little farm, Alys!”

Alys felt her skills slick and warm at her fingertips. She felt her power around her like a puppet-master’s cloak when he spreads it wide as a backcloth and sets his little dolls dancing. She slid her arm around Catherine’s broad waist and felt the big woman yearn toward her. “If I agree to come to you when Hugo’s new wife arrives, will you go peaceably now?” she asked. “The old lord has said he will be generous with money if you accept the end of the marriage graciously. You could get all the money we need by obliging him.”

Catherine stiffened. “Make it easy for them!” she exclaimed.

“Make it easy for us,” Alys corrected her. “Take their money, and then, when you are safe in your own little manor—take me too!”

Catherine drew Alys to her, drenched her neck in kisses, moved her lips up across Alys’s face toward her mouth. “Then I can have you, like Hugo used to have you,” she said. “I used to dream of what he did with you, I used to burn up with jealousy and desire dreaming of him with you. Now I cannot have him and he hates me, and he has made me foul to myself. But at least I can steal his whore from him. At least I can take you.”

Alys forced herself to stand still, her hands on Catherine’s puffy hips, while Catherine’s grip tightened around her waist and her other hand stroked the top of Alys’s breasts.

“Do you want me for desire of me, or revenge on Hugo?” Alys asked curiously.

“Both,” Catherine said honestly. “I will humble him as he has humbled me. I lost my child but he will lose his whore. I shall steal you away from him as if you were his best possession. I shall take you like I would poach his mare. I shall make you mine and every time I lie on you I shall have all my pleasure and his as well.” She turned toward the rumpled bed, her hand insistently pulling Alys. The sheets were stained with wax and smelled sour.

Alys froze, hiding her disgust. “Not now,” she said quickly. “Tonight, Catherine. If I can get away from Hugo I shall come to you tonight.”

Catherine paused and beamed. “
We
deceive
him
!” she said, laughing with delight. “Just when he thinks he has beaten me to the ground and has you as his whore. We steal away together and laugh at his pride. And we will find pleasure that Hugo in his cruelty has never dreamed of.”

“Yes,” Alys said. “I will come tonight if I can sneak away from him. And I will come to your manor as soon as you are settled.” She kept her eyes down to hide the flare of triumph. “I promise.”

“Do you swear on Our Lady?” Catherine asked urgently.

Alys took the oath as lightly as a butterfly sipping nectar. “I swear.”

Catherine reached out both arms. “I agree,” she said. “I agree, Alys. Now let me hold you again.” Her grip tightened. “Let me hold you,” she said.

Alys stood still in Catherine’s embrace for a long tedious moment; her face, hidden from Catherine, was radiant. Then she gently stepped back.

“You should rest,” she said. “Go back to bed and eat a good dinner. I have to go and write letters for Lord Hugh. The king’s messenger came yesterday, they will need replies today.”

Catherine reluctantly released her. “Come to me when you are free this afternoon,” she commanded. “And we will talk about the manor-house. I will tell David to fetch me the books of accounts and we can choose our home together.”

Alys nodded. “If I can come I will,” she temporized. “You go to bed now.”

“I love you, Alys,” Catherine said. She looked like a little girl, climbing into the high bed. “I know you don’t love me. But when you are hurt by Hugo and banished from here, I think you will turn to me. Do you think you could love me?”

Alys shaped her lips into a smile. “I love you already,” she said. “And I look forward to the day when we are in our manor-house together.”

Catherine held out her arms. “Hold me again,” she said.

Alys stepped forward, put her arms around Catherine, and let the woman rest her head on Alys’s unwelcoming shoulder. Alys drew back and pulled up the covers, tucking Catherine into bed.

“I will tell the girl to change your bedding,” Alys said.

Catherine beamed at her. “How you care for me, Alys!” she said gratefully. “How gentle and loving we will be together when we are far from here.”

Alys glanced out of the arrow-slits in the tower on her way to Lord Hugh’s chamber. The high hills of the moor glowed like purple mist in the bright sunshine. The air was clear and clean as it blew gently through each arrow-slit, so Alys, hastening up the spiral stairs, went from sharp moorland air to stale castle smells as the sunlight fell briefly on her face and then left her in darkness. The white road was empty of travelers. She paused and looked carefully. There was nothing stirring the dust. Nothing.

She breathed slowly at the final window before she went in to the old lord.

He was wearing a light summer robe and sitting in his chair before a small fire. The room was crowded. Hugo was there and as Alys opened the door he laughed at some jest and she saw his dark head thrown back and his face merry. When he saw her he gave her a swift wink and came forward to draw her into the room. As his fingertips touched hers they both felt a tingle of last night’s desire. “Give you good day, my Alys!” Hugo said warmly.

Behind Hugo was the priest Father Stephen, still in his traveling cloak, thinner and more intense than before. David stood beside him, holding rolls of manuscript letters.