To The Castle
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Sister Helen had been like a mother to her. How could she bear to leave her?
Nell pointed out the guesthouse to the knights and told them to make themselves comfortable. Then she crossed the courtyard in the direction of Mother Superior’s tall, narrow, stone house. Her heart was thudding.
A lay sister answered Nell’s knock. Nell asked a little breathlessly, “Will you be so kind as to tell Mother that I wish to see her?”
“Of course,” the lay sister replied and disappeared up the stairs. She returned a few minutes later and told Nell that Mother Superior would receive her in her sitting room. By now Nell’s heart was hammering and she drew a deep breath to steady herself before she went up the stairs.
St. Cecelia’s was a well-endowed convent and the Mother Superior could have afforded a decent degree of luxury, but Mother Margaret de Ligne made do with only the bare essentials: several carved wooden chairs, two chests and a wall hanging depicting St. George on a white horse. The stone floor was bare of rushes.
Mother Margaret herself was almost as austere-looking as the room she sat in, but her face softened as Nell came in. “So,” she said. “You have returned from burying your sister.”
“Yes, Mother. And something has happened that I must discuss with you.”
“Come and sit down,” Mother Margaret said. “How are your mother and your father? Such a terrible thing for them, to lose your sister at so young an age. I am praying for them.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Nell replied.
“I see you are not wearing your wimple.”
Nell clutched her hands tightly together in her lap. “My mother made me take it off. Mother, something terrible has happened. My father has said that I can’t remain at the convent, that I must stay at home and take Sybilla’s place!”
There was a little silence, then Mother Margaret said softly, “I thought this might happen.”
Nell stared at her in shocked surprise.
Mother Margaret went on. “Your father is a very important man, Nell. He owns extensive lands, castles and manors. He has lost a son and a daughter and he needs an heir to carry on the family’s holdings and its bloodline. So I am not surprised that he wants you to come home.”
Nell found her voice. “But I was dedicated to God, Mother! Surely I ought not turn my back upon Him!”
Mother Margaret said gently, “When you were dedicated, your father had a son and another daughter. Now he has only you.”
Nell was stunned. Mother was sounding as if she approved of this change in Nell’s status! She said tensely, “I was hoping that you would speak to my father. I was hoping you would tell him that the ways of God come before the ways of men.”
Mother Margaret leaned a little forward. “My dear child,” she said. “we will miss you very much. You have given much joy to this convent. But you must obey your father, Nell. The Commandments tell us, honor thy father and thy mother.”
Nell felt betrayed. She had been so sure that Mother Superior would fight for her. “If you could just talk to him, perhaps he will change his mind,” she pleaded.
Mother Margaret shook her head decisively. Her light blue eyes held sympathy for Nell, but her words were adamant. “I will not interfere. You can continue to serve God, no matter what your station in life, Nell. You will be in a high position, a position where you can affect many lives—many more lives than you would affect in this convent. Perhaps God has had this plan for you all along. You learned here how to be a religious woman. Now it is time for you to take what you have learned and apply it to the life you will lead as mistress of many people.”
“But I don’t want to leave here,” Nell cried in deep distress. “I have been happy here!”
Mother folded her hands in her lap. “I am glad about that, but now your duty lies elsewhere, Nell. Your family needs you more than we do.”
There was a little silence. Nell hunched her shoulders and stared into her lap. “I thought you would take my side.”
“Look at me,” Mother Superior said.
Reluctantly, Nell lifted her eyes.
“Your job will be to work good in the world,” Mother said.
“That is a much harder task than praying from within the shelter of a convent, but I’m sure you’re equal to it.”
No, I’m not, Nell thought. I don’t want to go into the world.
Mother Superior continued. “One thing you can do is bring healing to those who need it. Sister Helen tells me that you are almost as accomplished an herb woman as she is. We have Sister Helen—we don’t need another healer. But many people in the world need the skill you have, Nell. That will be something you can do for God.”
Nell stared into Mother’s light eyes. She truly thought that Nell should go. She’s wrong, Nell thought rebelliously. I’m sure God wants me to stay here.
“Be a good daughter to your parents,” Mother Superior said. “They have need of you now.”
Nell’s chin set stubbornly and she did not answer. Mother Margaret stood up and Nell followed. Mother Margaret was half a head taller than the girl. “I am sure you will want to say goodbye to all your friends. Come, have dinner with us in the refectory and I will relax the order for silence so you may converse.”
There was nothing more that Nell could say. Mother Margaret’s mind was clearly made up. Tears stung behind Nell’s eyes. She was going to have to leave the convent.
Mother Superior said, “I am sure you will want to give your news to Sister Helen. I believe at this hour she is in the herb garden. Go and find her.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Nell pushed the words through the choking feeling in her throat.
She went back down the stairs and let herself out through the thick wooden door. This is terrible, she thought in panic as she crossed the courtyard and took the path that led between the convent and the squat storage building. How can I bear to leave here? How can I bear to leave Sister Helen?
The path descended gently to the convent’s large kitchen garden. At the far end of the garden was a fenced-off area and a small hut with smoke coming out of the smoke hole. Nell crossed the kitchen garden, went through the fence and into the hut.
A nun was standing with her back to the door, watching a glass pot as it cooked on a small stove. At the sight of the familiar figure, tears flooded Nell’s eyes.
“Sister Helen,” she said.
The nun turned. “Nell! You’re back. How are you? How are your parents?” She left the burner and came to stand beside Nell and look into her face.
Sister Helen was small, like Nell, and their eyes met easily. Nell looked into the pretty, unlined face of the person she loved best in the world and felt her stomach clench. The tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, Sister Helen,” she cried. “Something terrible has happened. My father has said I must leave the convent and go to live with him and my mother. They want me to take my sister’s place!”
There was a moment of silence. The mixture of herbs gave off a pungent smell that filled the hut.
“Oh, my dear,” Sister Helen said, her voice full of aching sympathy.
Nell’s sobs broke loose. “I asked Mother Margaret to intercede with my father, but she won’t! She says I must obey my parents and leave the convent.”
Sister Helen took Nell’s hands into her own small work-worn ones. She spoke soberly, “Mother Margaret has no say in your future, Nell. You are the daughter of a powerful man. If the earl wants you home, then home you must go.”
“But he gave me away!” Nell cried through her tears. “He and my mother. They didn’t want me, Sister Helen. They still don’t want me. They need a daughter, that’s all. It isn’t fair that my life should be turned upside down because they have changed their minds.”
Nell flung herself forward and Sister Helen’s arms closed around her. There was a long silence where the only sounds were the pot boiling on the burner and Nell crying. Then Sister Helen said quietly, “Listen to me, Nell. It may very well be that God has other plans for you than the convent. You will join the world of the great. You may be in a position to do much good. Perhaps that is God’s plan for you.”
Nell said into her shoulder, “That is what Mother Margaret said. But I don’t think it’s true. I think I was meant to be a nun.”
Sister Helen patted Nell’s back between her shoulder blades. “I think you should listen to Mother. She is a very wise woman, Nell.”
“I don’t want to leave you!” Nell cried passionately. “You have always been my best friend. You have been more my mother than my real mother ever was.”
Sister Helen put her hands on Nell’s shoulders and held her away. She looked into her streaming eyes. “God knows, I will miss you very much. Very much. But we must bow to His will, my dear. That is what we are put on this earth to do.”
“It is the will of my father,” Nell retorted through her tears. “I’m not so sure it is the will of God.”
Sister Helen tightened her grasp on Nell’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Nell. I know this is hard for you. Your life is going to be very different from the life you have known. But it’s important that you feel you are doing God’s work in your new life. It is easy to be religious in the convent—much harder in the world. But that is now your calling and you must embrace it, however hard it may be. Are you listening to me?”
Nell said in a trembling voice, “I am listening, Sister.”
“Good. Take pity on your father instead of blaming him. He is a man who has lost two children. And your mother, too. Show yourself to be a good daughter to them—they need you now.”
They never needed me before.
“Have you heard me, Nell?” Sister Helen asked gently.
Nell tried hard to stop crying. “I heard you, Sister. But I still think this is the wrong thing to do.”
“It is important that you make the best of the life that has been chosen for you,” Sister Helen said soberly. “Promise me you will think about what Mother Margaret and I have said.”
Nell didn’t answer.
“Nell?”
“I promise,” Nell said in a low voice.
Sister Helen squeezed Nell’s shoulders then dropped her hands. “I will miss you,” she said painfully.
“Oh, and I will miss you!”
At that, Sister Helen held out her arms once again and Nell went into them. Sister Helen held her tight. Nell could smell the faint aroma of herbs that always clung to Sister Helen’s clothes. “Can I come and visit you?” she asked.
“You will always be welcome.”
Finally Sister Helen relaxed her arms and Nell stepped back. The nun said briskly, “It is time for dinner. Let me take this pot off the fire and we can go up to the refectory.”
Nell sniffed and nodded and waited while Sister Helen turned off the stove and removed the pot. Then the two women walked up the hill together.
Three
It was late in the afternoon and the Earl of Wiltshire and his grandson were returning from inspecting the defenses of the many castles and manors whose lords owed fealty to the earl. The Earl of Wiltshire was one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, the overlord of demesnes in Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset, Hampshire, Surrey, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Oxfordshire. As the country was braced for a civil war to break out between King Stephen and his cousin, the Empress Mathilda, the earl had thought it important to visit the lords who owed their feudal duty to him and to remind them that the earl had pledged his loyalty to King Stephen.
As the contingent of knights crossed Salisbury plain on their return to the earl’s main castle of Wilton, the sun shone on polished helmets and hauberks and shields, and the sheen of the horses’ coats almost equaled the brightness of the men’s armor. The summer day was breezy and the flag carried by the leading knight flew bravely. The jingle of the knights’ spurs and armor could be heard all along the road as they passed. Behind them came the pack horses carrying the household goods the earl considered necessary when he traveled: one horse was loaded with his dismantled bed, sheets, blankets and mattress, another with his wardrobe, another with the wine he favored and others still with the various items that contributed to his comfort.
The old man turned to his twenty-two-year-old grandson and said, “It will be good to get home. We’ve been away a long time.”
“It was early spring when we left and now it’s deep summer,” Roger replied. “But we had a good tour, I think.”
“It is wise to show your face once in a while,” the earl advised. “Remember that, my boy. There’s nothing like a little inspection to keep a man honest.”
“Yes, sir,” Roger said.
“I’m looking forward to sitting in my own hall, though,” the earl said. “I’m getting too old to be putting in so many hours in the saddle.”
Roger grinned. “You have more stamina than half of the knights, sir.”
“I put up a good front,” the earl grunted. “When we get home we can turn our thoughts to your wedding.”
Roger shifted his grip on the reins. “Ah, yes. The wedding. I still can’t believe you got the king to agree to it.”
“It was an enticement. He knows he needs to keep me loyal. If Wiltshire should go over to the empress it would be a catastrophe for Stephen. We hold sway over too much land for him to lose us.”
Roger shook his head in amazement. “But to join the earldoms of Wiltshire and Lincoln! The de Roches will be the most powerful family in the kingdom.”
The earl gave his grandson a sly smile. “I know. We will control all of Lincoln, as well as Wiltshire. We will sit astride the kingdom, Roger, as powerful as the king, and the Earl of Chester will be furious.”
“The present Earl of Lincoln is still very much alive, sir,” Roger pointed out. “The union of the two lordships won’t happen until he is dead. Only then will his daughter inherit.”
“Raoul de Bonvile wants what we want. He wants his blood to be foremost in the kingdom. That’s why he agreed to the marriage.”
They rode for a little way in silence, Roger’s thoughts on his upcoming union to this unknown girl. At last he said, “I hope Sybilla is pretty.”
“It doesn’t matter what she looks like,” the earl said. “What matters is what she brings to us. Earls do not marry for a pretty face, my boy, and you are the future earl.”
There was a little silence. Then Roger replied, “Yes, sir, I know. But it would help if she was pretty.”
“There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be pretty. Her mother is a very good-looking woman.”
They rode in more silence until the earl said with satisfaction, “There is Wilton.”
Roger looked up from his thoughts to the castle that had just come into sight. The first thing one saw upon approaching Wilton was the massive stone battlemented curtain wall, with its twin gate towers. Four other towers were set at the corners of each of the outer walls, and from the crenelated crests of each of these towers flew a crimson flag displaying the de Roche signature of a leopard.
“It’s impregnable,” the earl said with great satisfaction. It was a remark he made rather frequently. “The walls are fifteen feet thick. No siege artillery can breach them. Of all the castles we have seen in the past two months, nothing can match Wilton.”
Roger nodded, sharing his pride. The home of the Earl of Wiltshire was the greatest castle, outside the royal castles, in the country. It was one of the reasons why his grandfather was so powerful.
Within a few minutes the earl’s party passed over the moat, between the gate towers, under the raised portcullis and into the outer bailey. This courtyard contained stabling for the knights’ horses, as well as the usual storehouses and buildings for workmen and castle defenders. There was even enough room in the huge bailey to house additional troops, should they be necessary for the castle’s defense.
While the knights dismounted in the outer bailey, Roger and his grandfather continued on horseback toward the inner wall, which was also built of thick stone, with a second gate barred by another iron portcullis. A square tower stood at each of the four corners of these inner walls.
The knight on guard called out, “Welcome home, my lord,” as the earl and his grandson rode through the gate and into the inner bailey. This courtyard surrounded the keep, a square stone edifice, four stories high, with four towers that rose another two stories above the main building.
Grooms came running to take the earl’s and Roger’s horses and the two men went up the steep stone ramp that led to the main door of the keep.
The first floor of the castle was given over to store-rooms, the second floor to guardrooms, where the knights lived, and the third floor to the Great Hall. Roger and his grandfather climbed one set of narrow stairs and entered into the hall where most of the activity in the castle took place.
The room was empty now, and no fire burned in the immense stone fireplace that was set on the far wall. The three other walls were hung with large wall hangings to keep out the damp and the floor was strewn with rushes and herbs. Two heavily carved chairs were placed on either side of the fireplace and in front of one of them a dog was sleeping.
“Gawain!” Roger cried, and the dog lifted his head. “It’s me, fellow,” Roger said. “I’m back.”
As he recognized the beloved voice, the dog stood up and raced across the floor to his master, barking excitedly as he ran. Roger squatted on his heels and the rush of the dog almost knocked him over. Roger laughed and tried to pat the dog, but Gawain was too excited to stand still. He circled Roger, still barking excitedly.
The earl said indulgently, “You would never know he was eleven years old.”
Roger laughed. “He’s like you, sir. He wears his age lightly.”
Finally the dog calmed down enough to stand and let Roger pet him. “I’m sorry I had to leave you for so long,” Roger said into the adoring brown eyes of the black-and-white mongrel. “But you’re too old to come anymore. You couldn’t keep up, fellow.”
“It’s just as well he doesn’t come,” the earl said. “I can imagine what my vassals would think when they saw that my grandson’s dog is a notched-ear mongrel.”
“He’s the best dog in the world,” Roger said without heat.
“He is a good dog,” the earl agreed. “He’s certainly devoted to you.”
“He knows who loves him.” Roger stood up and pulled off his helmet, revealing his dark gold hair. “It’s still two hours before supper. Would you like a drink of wine, Grandfather?”
“That sounds like a very good idea. My poor old bones are sore from so many hours in the saddle.”
The two men moved toward the chairs in front of the empty fireplace. The shutters were pushed back on the high, narrow windows to let in the afternoon sunlight. The door to the hall opened again to admit two pages.
“Come over here, lads, and disarm us,” the earl called, and the two pages hurried over to them. Both men stood patiently while the boys undid the laces on their mail hauberks and pulled them over their heads. Each hauberk was made of leather, with more than two hundred thousand overlapping metal rings sewn on it for protection. Neither man was wearing the long-sleeved mail shirt or mail leggings that made up full armor.
When they had been stripped to the comfort and the coolness of their tunics, the earl and his grandson relaxed with their wine and enjoyed the comfort of their own hall. The door opened again and an elderly man came in.
“Simon,” the earl called. “Come over here and tell us what has been happening in our absence.”
Simon, who had been the earl’s squire when he was a youngster and was now his steward, crossed the floor, a smile on his face. “My lord, how happy I am to see you safely returned.”
“Thank you, it is good to be home.”
Simon turned to Roger. “It is good to see you, also, my lord.”
“How are you, Simon?” Roger returned. “How have your joints been holding up?”
“I am well, my lord. The sore joints, well, God has seen fit to burden me thusly and I must live with it.”
The earl said, “Has anything happened in my absence that I should know about?”
“You received a missive from the Earl of Lincoln, my lord. It came last week. I knew you were coming home soon, so I didn’t try to send it on to you. Shall I get it for you?”
“The Earl of Lincoln.” The earl glanced at his grandson. “I wonder what this can be about.”
“Perhaps it’s something about the marriage,” Roger said.
“Get the letter, Simon,” the earl said.
“I have it in my own room, for safekeeping.” The man began to move stiffly in the direction of one of the towers and Roger and the earl fell into conversation.
“The wedding must take place soon,” the earl said. “Everyone will want it done before the empress Mathilda and her half brother, Robert of Gloucester, land in England to take up arms against King Stephen.”
Roger agreed with his grandfather, agreed that the marriage was a great coup for the family, and was faintly ashamed that the idea of it made him so nervous. He was more comfortable talking about the political situation. “If the empress and her troops can land,” he said. “Stephen is having all the major ports watched.”
“England has too long a coastline to watch all the places where a ship might land,” the earl said. “They will make the crossing from Normandy and land somewhere that Stephen isn’t watching. Then they will make their way to Bristol, which is Robert’s stronghold. From there they will send out their summons to those they hope will support them.”
“Who do you think will answer that call, sir?”
“Brian fitz Count will probably join them, but most of the earls will play a waiting game. Men like Rannulf of Chester will want to see which side can offer him the most. They have no honor, men like that. They all swore an oath to uphold Stephen and now they are only looking out for themselves.”
Didn’t you do that, Roger thought, when you forced the king to give the heiress of Lincoln to me in marriage to keep you loyal?
But Roger would never say that to his grandfather.
The earl was going on. “Rannulf of Chester owns a quarter of the kingdom already, and he will be looking to increase his holdings. He will be furious when he learns that Stephen is giving us the earldom of Lincoln. Rannulf was hoping the prize of Lincoln would go to his half brother, William of Roumare. William has a number of castles in Lincolnshire.”
Roger said, “You are supporting Stephen because you think he will be the best king for England, isn’t that so, Grandfather?”
“Certainly,” the earl replied. “Stephen is a man and a warrior and as direct a descendant of the Conqueror as Mathilda is. Mathilda may be the daughter of the old king, and Stephen just the nephew, but undoubtedly Stephen is the best man for England. The empress has never lived in England—the old king sent her to Germany to marry the emperor when she was a young child, and she has lived in Normandy ever since the emperor died. Her second husband, Geoffrey Plantagenet, is fighting for the rule of Normandy—he has little interest in England. It is Mathilda who wants England for her son.”
At this point, Simon exited from the tower staircase and hurried toward them, a rolled piece of parchment in his hands. The earl gestured for him to give it to Roger.
“My old eyes can’t see to read these days,” he said. “Read it to me, my boy.”
Roger read aloud: “Greetings to the Earl of Wiltshire from his brother, the Earl of Lincoln. I bring you sad news. My daughter Sybilla went home to God on the third of June of this year.”
My God, she’s dead! Shocked, Roger looked up from the letter and over to his grandfather.
The earl glowered. “Hell and damnation,” he said. “This will spoil all our plans.”
Roger shook his head as if to clear it, then looked back down at the paper. “There is more,” he said, and began to read again. “Fortunately, this tragic news will not force us to cancel our plans. My other daughter Eleanor will take Sybilla’s place. The marriage between Lincoln and Wiltshire can go forward as planned.”