Bertrice Small - The Innocent

"Was he always of a weakened disposition?" Ranulf de Glandeville asked Elf. Sometimes this was unfortunately so.

"Oh, no!" Elf replied. "Until about a year ago, according to old Ida, who was our nursemaid, Dickon was in the best of health." Then the young girl blushed. "I have almost forgotten, sir. My brother wanted me to ask you if you will come and speak with him before you retire. I have had a comfortable place made up for you in the bed space next to the fire. You will be quite snug there."

He arose from the high board, giving her a small bow. "I will see to your brother immediately," he said. "Again, I thank you for your hospitality, my lady Eleanore."

"God grant you good rest, sir," she answered him.

"I did not know you were so skilled in the arts of flirting, my pretty," Saer de Bude said suggestively. "Did the good nuns teach you that amorous art, Elf? You do not flirt with me, and I am quite overcome by your loveliness." He reached out to take her hand in his, but Elf snatched it away before he might do so.

"Why do you mistake simple courtesy for something else?" she asked him sharply. Then more boldly, "And why do you remain here at Ashlin, sir? You are not really needed by anyone. Dickon will die soon. It is not fitting that you be here in this house with two women and no older relation. Surely you do not wish to damage your cousin’s reputation?" Suddenly, Elf was more angry than she had ever been.

"You do not fear for your own reputation?" he mocked her.

"Why? All who know me know I am chaste, for I am a bride of Christ. My reputation is safe, but what of Isleen's, sir?" Elf countered, then turned and came down from the high board. After seeking out Ida, Elf crawled with the old woman into a bed space at the end of the hall. The space Elf had allocated to Ranulf de Glandeville had actually been hers, but as it was the best one in the hall, she gave it to their guest. Ida and Elf preferred being near Richard de Montfort, who spent all his time in the hall now. Isleen slept in the small bedchamber off the solar, which was located behind the hall, while Saer de Bude found his rest in a little attic room.

Richard de Montfort greeted the king’s messenger, and invited him to sit by his side. "I have a commission for you, if you can take it, sir," he said softly. "My wife and I are childless. Under the laws of inheritance Ashlin must go to my sister, Eleanore. My wife’s dowry, of course, will be returned to her family, the de Warennes, as will Isleen. She is still young and beautiful. Another husband can be found for her, I am certain. In the morning I will ask my sister to write my will, for she has been most excellently educated at St. Frideswide's. She will make three copies. One I shall keep. The second I would have you deliver to the Bishop of Worcester; the third take to the king. I do this so that there is no mistake in my intentions for my wife and my sister. A serf has already been delegated to ride to the bishop when I die, and inform him of my demise. The bishop is to notify the king. I entrust Eleanore’s safety to King Stephen. Will you do this for me, sir?" the lord of Ashlin finished weakly.

"I will, and gladly," Ranulf de Glandeville said quietly.

Richard nodded, openly relieved. "Thank you, sir. I do not like my wife’s cousin. He presumes too much, but I have tolerated him for Isleen’s sake because she seems so fond of him. Of late, however, I have seen this Saer de Bude looking at my young sister when he thought no one was noticing him. His gaze is too predatory to suit me. Elf is an innocent. She would not know how to defend herself against such a man."

Elf, Ranulf thought. It was a charming nickname. "How long has your sister been at St. Frideswide's? I know it, for a young relative of mine is there. The girl’s name is Isabeaux St. Simon, but she is to marry soon, this autumn, I think."

"Isa is one of Elf’s two best friends," Richard answered. "You must tell my sister that you know her. I took Elf to the convent shortly after her fifth birthday. Our father had died, and then our mother. I had contracted a marriage with the de Warennes, and they did not think it fair that Isleen should have to raise my sister. It was they who suggested St. Frideswide's. Knowing my sister’s dower was a small one, they also suggested that she become a nun when she was old enough. It was a good decision. Elf has been safe in these troubled times. Her gentle disposition is perfect for the life she will lead. I should fear for her otherwise after I am gone." He coughed, his face paler than usual.

"Perhaps now she is to inherit your manor," Ranulf de Glandeville said, "she might decide she prefers to marry."

Richard shook his head. "I think it more likely she will give Ashlin to her order. They will do with it what is best for them. Marriage is not for Elf. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall sleep. I am very weary despite the fact all I do is lie here day after day."

Ranulf de Glandeville sought his own bed space, nodding to the young serf who had come to sit by his master. To the knight’s surprise there was a small stool by the bed space with a basin of warm water. He washed the grease of his supper from his hands and face gratefully, drying them on the small linen cloth with the ewer. What a shame his young hostess had chosen the church over marriage. She would make a fine chatelaine of any man’s manor. Pulling off his dalmatica, he laid it aside, and unlaced his corselet, a tight-fitting leather jupe, and set it out of the way, too. Then he removed his boots. He would sleep in the rest of his clothing. He needed to pee, and so walking across the hall, he let himself outside to complete the task, then returned inside, carefully barring the door again.

A serf awoke him shortly after dawn. There was hot oat stirabout, fresh bread, cheese, butter, and brown ale to break his fast. Having eaten his fill, he went to Richard de Montfort’s side, where Elf was even now copying out a second parchment of her brother’s will. She looked up at his approach, the expression on her young face serious. He sat silently by the lord’s side. Richard’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Ranulf de Glandeville crossed himself, and folded his big hands in prayer. They were hands more used to battle than supplication, and his hazel eyes could not help but stray to the earnestly bent head of the girl as she wrote.

"There, only one more to copy," she finally said. "It is not a long document, sir. I will try not to keep you. You must be eager to be on your way as your business is for the king." Then she bent her head again over her task.

He picked up one of the parchments. It had been dictated in a straightforward manner. Richard de Montfort, right lord of the manor of Ashlin, being childless after nine years of marriage to his lawful wife, Isleen de Warenne, leaves said manor with its lands, its serfs, its buildings, its livestock, and all of his possessions to his only heir, his sister, Eleanore de Montfort. The will went on to note that Isleen’s dowry portion should be returned immediately to her family. Here Ranulf de Glandeville raised an interested eyebrow. The de Warennes had been most generous, perhaps a bit overgenerous. They had obviously been quite eager to rid themselves of this daughter. Curious, he could not help but wonder why. The lady was quite beautiful and from an excellent family. The will went on to commend Richard de Montfort’s wishes to His Majesty, King Stephen, and to his lordship, the Bishop of Worcester. The bishop was awarded six ewe lambs and a young ram for his trouble.

"I have finished, sir," Elf’s voice broke into his thoughts.

The knight looked up to see Richard de Montfort signing each document, and sealing them with his seal both by his signature and on the rolled-up document’s exterior. The lord of Ashlin had to be braced by a servant so he might sit up enough to scrawl his signature and press his seal into the hot wax. Before he did so, however, Ranulf de Glandeville signed each will in witness.

"What is it you are doing?" Isleen had entered the hall, Saer at her side.

They were a beautiful couple, Ranulf thought, fascinated by their appearance.

"I have dictated my will to Elf," Richard said softly. "Ranulf de Glandeville has witnessed it, Elf has made copies, and now our good guest will deliver a copy each to the bishop in Worcester, and the king, so my wishes will be carried out with expedience. Elf will inherit Ashlin as she is my heir."

"Of course she will," Isleen said, and her voice was almost angry. "I know that, but what a little nun will do with a manor is beyond me. Will she use these lands to found a new convent, perhaps?"

"I am not allowed to own any personal possessions once I have taken my final vows," Elf said, speaking up. "When I return to St. Frideswide's, I shall sign my rights in Ashlin over to my order. Ashlin will belong to the sisters of St. Mary, Isleen."

For the tiniest moment, so brief that Ranulf de Glandeville wasn't even certain, an ugly look touched Isleen’s face, but then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. Why, she hates her sister-in-law, the knight thought. Well, the woman was human. Her childless condition was costing her a comfortable living, and her very home. She would get over it, but who could blame her in the meantime? He took the two rolled documents Elf handed him and arose.

"I will see these are delivered properly," he told Richard de Montfort, "and I will pray for your soul, my lord." He bowed.

"Thank you" was Richard’s simple reply.

"Your cloak, my lord," Ida said, handing the garment to him.

"Why, it looks like new!" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Nothing a good brushing couldn't accomplish, my lord," the old lady said sharply. "That is why God made women. Men need taking care of, it is obvious. Godspeed, lord."

He put the garment about his broad shoulders, and then made his farewells, saving his last good-bye for Elf. "I shall not forget your hospitality, lady," he told her softly. "Your kindness lifted the weariness from my shoulders last night, and I am grateful. I have a long way to go yet. Thank you."

"May you go with God, then, Sir Ranulf," Elf told him. "I shall remember you in my prayers."

He bowed to her, then turned and left the hall.

“Will you remember me in your prayers also, lady?" Saer de VV Bude queried when the king’s messenger was out of hearing.

"I remember all here in my prayers, sir," Elf said, and then added more tartly, "I expect you need praying for more than that good knight, sir." She turned to Ida. "We will need fresh linen for my brother’s cot. I will go and fetch it if you and Isleen will bathe Dickon, please." Without waiting for an answer she hurried off to the linen cupboard, where she drew forth clean bedding for her brother’s comfort. The cupboard smelled of lavender and damask roses. Hearing a footstep behind her, Elf turned about and found herself face-to-face with Saer de Bude.

"You are even more beautiful than my cousin, Isleen," he began.

"Your words and your obvious thoughts are inappropriate, sir," Elf said. She was irritated by this man’s proximity, but her voice did not quaver, nor did she shrink from him.

The deep blue eyes fixed her fiercely. "I find you ultimately desirable, Eleanore de Montfort, and as you have not taken your final vows as a nun yet, I feel I may tell you so." He moved closer, pressing her back into the cupboard.

"In my mind and in my heart, sir, I am a nun. I do not welcome your attentions. I find them distasteful, extremely offensive. Now, step aside so I may pass! These linens are needed in the hall."

He laughed, and she saw his teeth were slightly yellowed. It spoiled the illusion of his overall handsomeness. Reaching out, he caught a tendril of her pale red-gold hair between his fingers, rubbed it, and then brought it to his lips to kiss. "Your hair is soft."

Elf was instantly repelled. Now she understood why a nun cut off her hair when she took her final vows. A woman’s hair was a terrible and sensuous provocation even when she didn't want it to be. "Let me pass!"

His answer was to run a slender finger over her lips. "You have the most kissable mouth," he murmured seductively.

Elf was nauseated. Unable to help herself, she disgorged the contents of her morning meal on him. The vomit spilled down his sky blue tunic. Horrified, he stepped back with an oath. It was then Elf took the opportunity to shove past him, clutching the linens, which had somehow managed to remain free of her spew. She was dizzy, but she didn't stop in her flight, handing off the fragrant linens to a young servant woman, saying, "Take these to the hall. I must have some air." Then she ran from the house into the sunny summer morning.