“Were you so unsure? Was I really so cruel?”
“Yes, and yes. But don’t worry,” she waved away her sister’s half-formed apology, “I have no doubts now. Either about my vocation or about who got the better part. Even if you had been blissfully happy with Oswy I would still have counted myself the more fortunate.”
At the mention of her husband’s name she started to weep again.
“He’s such a brute! If only he could be - be different.”
“Be someone else?” Eanfleda nodded absently. “Be someone like, like...let me see now,” she drew the moment out, “like Wilfrid, perhaps? So magnificent, so powerful. A rising star in the Church, well-placed, unfailingly courteous, worthy of the favour and gifts of a powerful young queen. Or perhaps like Cuthbert before him, kind and patient, and so holy you can almost see his halo. Like them perhaps?”
“How can you say such things? How can you?” Eanfleda looked into her sister’s face and saw her sterner side. She burst into tears again. Hilda passed another kerchief from the pile she kept in her drawer and pressed the point, without visible mercy but with much compassion inside her severe exterior.
“You must face the truth, Fleda. It’s true, isn’t it?” The queen kept her head down, sobbing quietly. “If you were to have any man’s hand on you then it should be someone very special, so holy, so noble, one destined for canonisation, someone who would cherish and care for you, someone worthy of fathering a messiah on you, yes?” Eanfleda’s eyes blazed as she stood and opened her mouth to spit defiance and rebuttal. Hilda held up her hand and pressed on. “You have thought of it, I know you have. You must face this truth about yourself, Fleda. You have imagined how the hands of a demigod might feel on your skin. It’s been ecstasy to think of it, hasn’t it? Hasn’t it?” she demanded. Her sister said nothing, but sat down and looked at the wall again. “It is true,” Hilda continued, “we both know it is. What was it turned you against Cuthbert?”
“I caught him looking at me That Way. He’s not so holy as he pretends. He wanted to - to possess me. He’s just another disgusting man and I’ll show everyone what he’s really like, one day.” Hilda sighed.
“Cuthbert wrestles with demons every day of his life. Yes, he is just a man. But he’s a remarkable man. He is a normal man and yet, when a pretty and ingratiating young woman threw herself at him, with smiles and favours, he didn’t take her to the nearest haystack, no - he overcame his nature. And dedicated his torment to God, even though you nearly drove him mad with your little-woman smiles and coquettish ways. Yes, he is a remarkable man. And, when he looked at you as any man would who had been subjected to your behaviour, you retreated and turned your attention to the handsome Wilfrid, showering gifts and money and praise on him. I take it he’s never looked at you That Way (as you say) or he would have been dropped, as well, wouldn’t he?”
“He never would. Wilfrid is altogether more worthy.”
“We’ll leave Wilfrid’s worth to God, I think. Don’t you see what you have done, and are doing?” the younger woman looked up at her sister in puzzlement. “Wilfrid, Cuthbert before him, and I don’t know who before that, while I was already in the convent and saw nothing. All of them - ALL of them - are men who don’t threaten you in any way. They won’t thrust and penetrate, breathe hot passion on your face or press your breasts so hard you could scream, will they? They are unattainable, saints and holy men, something you can’t have so you are safe to dream about them and get a distorted, twisted, empty fulfilment that way. The moment any man reveals himself as normal, with normal desires you have brought out, you run away, don’t you?” Eanfleda was still.
“Tell me, Fleda - and it’s important that you answer this question - have you ever craved the physical comfort of another woman? Since you’ve grown, I mean?” Eanfleda looked revolted at the very suggestion.
“Good God, Hilda, no! The very thought of it! Ugh, no! How could you think such a thing of me?”
“I apologise. I was asking in order to get to the heart of your problem. We haven’t confided in each other for many years.” They sat in silence for a few moments then Hilda asked quietly: “And Romanus? What about him?” Eanfleda shook her head vigorously. Definitely not him, then. She was, for a moment, almost comically relieved. Cuthbert, she could understand, Wilfrid definitely so, but that creeping chaplain - she shuddered. Did he conceal inappropriate feelings?... She felt that, if he was interested in physical relationships at all, it would not be with a woman.
They sat in silence again for a few moments until the Queen spoke.
“Can you help me? Please?”
“If I can. How?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know. I need help in dealing with Oswy.” In dealing with herself, Hilda thought, but once more she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Well,” she started slowly, “I have tried to help already, by talking with you and trying to help you see what your problem is. And it is a problem. Northumbria and Mercia expect an heir. You can’t give them one in your state.” Her sister had twitched at the mention of an heir with its implication of the congress necessary for pregnancy. “I shall pray for you, of course - but you must decide what route you wish to follow. If you are prepared to bear an heir, then I’m sure we can find someone who knows of some potion or other that will enable you to go through the motions without torment or memory of it. The country people hereabouts talk of such things from time to time but Northumbria is now Christian, all the Druids and shamen are in hiding or dead. But the monks from Lindisfarne or Iona may be able to help. They travel to the wildest parts of Britain, evangelising and seeking converts, and some were Druids themselves before they were monks. I’ll ask if you wish. The alternative,” she continued, “is to consider taking the veil yourself. I think Oswy will hold you to whatever bargain you have made, whichever way the Synod turns out, and a convent may be your only protection if you truly can’t go through with it. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said simply. All her tears had been shed, she was completely drained. “I don’t know what to do. I’m a Christian, and I don’t want to call on pagan help - but I may have to. I’m not sure that I want to lock myself in a nunnery. I wouldn’t dare go out, ever, in case Oswy was waiting for me - and he would be waiting for me, if he wasn’t banging on the door trying to get in. I don’t know. What do you think?”