76
At the same time as Ralph was created earl of Shiring, a young man called David Caerleon became earl of Monmouth. He was only seventeen, and related rather distantly to the dead man, but all nearer heirs to the title had been wiped out by the plague.
A few days before Christmas that year, Bishop Henri held a service in Kingsbridge Cathedral to bless the two new earls. Afterward David and Ralph were guests of honor at a banquet given by Merthin in the guildhall. The merchants were also celebrating the granting of a borough charter to Kingsbridge.
Ralph considered David to have been extraordinarily lucky. The boy had never been outside the kingdom, nor had he ever fought in battle, yet he was an earl at seventeen. Ralph had marched all through Normandy with King Edward, risked his life in battle after battle, lost three fingers, and committed countless sins in the king's service, yet he had had to wait until the age of thirty-two.
However, he had made it at last, and sat next to Bishop Henri at the table, wearing a costly brocade coat woven with gold and silver threads. People who knew him pointed him out to strangers, wealthy merchants made way for him and bowed their heads respectfully as he passed, and the maidservant's hand shook with nervousness as she poured wine into his cup. His father, Sir Gerald, confined to bed now but hanging on tenaciously to life, had said: 'I'm the descendant of an earl, and the father of an earl. I'm satisfied.' It was all profoundly gratifying.
Ralph was keen to talk to David about the problem of laborers. It had eased temporarily now that the harvest was in and the autumn plowing was finished: at this time of year the days were short and the weather was cold, so not much work could be done in the fields. Unfortunately, as soon as the spring plowing began and the ground was soft enough for the serfs to sow seeds, the trouble would start again: laborers would recommence agitating for higher wages, and if refused would illegally run off to more extravagant employers.
The only way to stop this was for the nobility collectively to stand firm, resist demands for higher pay, and refuse to hire runaways. This was what Ralph wanted to say to David.
However, the new earl of Monmouth showed no inclination to talk to Ralph. He was more interested in Ralph's stepdaughter, Odila, who was near his own age. They had met before, Ralph gathered: Philippa and her first husband, William, had often been guests at the castle when David had been a squire in the service of the old earl. Whatever their history, they were friends now: David was talking animatedly and Odila was hanging on every word - agreeing with his opinions, gasping at his stories, and laughing at his jokes.
Ralph had always envied men who could fascinate women. His brother had the ability, and consequently was able to attract the most beautiful women, despite being a short, plain man with red hair.
All the same, Ralph felt sorry for Merthin. Ever since the day that Earl Roland had made Ralph a squire and condemned Merthin to be a carpenter's apprentice, Merthin had been doomed. Even though he was the elder, it was Ralph who was destined to become the earl. Merthin, now sitting on the other side of Earl David, had to console himself with being a mere alderman - and having charm.
Ralph could not even charm his own wife. She hardly spoke to him. She had more to say to his dog.
How was it possible, Ralph asked himself, for a man to want something as badly as he had wanted Philippa, and then to be so dissatisfied when he got it? He had yearned for her since he was a squire of nineteen. Now, after three months of marriage, he wished with all his heart that he could get rid of her.
Yet it was hard for him to complain. Philippa did everything a wife was obliged to do. She ran the castle efficiently, as she had been doing ever since her first husband had been made earl after the battle of Cr??cy. Supplies were ordered, bills were paid, clothes were sewn, fires were lit, and food and wine arrived on the table unfailingly. And she submitted to Ralph's sexual attentions. He could do anything he liked: tear her clothes, thrust his fingers ungently inside her, take her standing up or from behind - she never complained.
But she did not reciprocate his caresses. Her lips never moved against his, her tongue never slipped into his mouth, she never stroked his skin. She kept a vial of almond oil handy, and lubricated her unresponsive body with it whenever he wanted sex. She lay as still as a corpse while he grunted on top of her. The moment he rolled off, she went to wash herself.
The only good thing about the marriage was that Odila was fond of little Gerry. The baby brought out her nascent maternal instinct. She loved to talk to him, sing him songs, and rock him to sleep. She gave him the kind of affectionate mothering he would never really get from a paid nurse.
All the same, Ralph was regretful. Philippa's voluptuous body, which he had stared at with longing for so many years, was now revolting to him. He had not touched her for weeks, and he probably never would again. He looked at her heavy breasts and round hips, and wished for the slender limbs and girlish skin of Tilly. Tilly, whom he had stabbed with a long, sharp knife that went up under her ribs and into her beating heart. That was a sin he did not dare to confess. How long, he wondered wretchedly, would he suffer for it in Purgatory?
The bishop and his colleagues were staying in the prior's palace, and the Monmouth entourage filled the priory's guest rooms, so Ralph and Philippa and their servants were lodging at an inn. Ralph had chosen the Bell, the rebuilt tavern owned by his brother. It was the only three-story house in Kingsbridge, with a big open room at ground level, male and female dormitories above, and a top floor with six expensive individual guest rooms. When the banquet was over, Ralph and his men removed to the tavern, where they installed themselves in front of the fire, called for more wine, and began to play at dice. Philippa remained behind, talking to Caris and chaperoning Odila with Earl David.
Ralph and his companions attracted a crowd of admiring young men and women such as always gathered around free-spending noblemen. Ralph gradually forgot his troubles in the euphoria of drink and the thrill of gambling.
He noticed a young fair-haired woman watching him with a yearning expression as he cheerfully lost stacks of silver pennies on the throw of the dice. He beckoned her to sit beside him on the bench, and she told him her name was Ella. At moments of tension she grabbed his thigh, as if captured by the suspense, though she probably knew exactly what she was doing - women usually did.
He gradually lost interest in the game and transferred his attention to her. His men carried on betting while he got to know Ella. She was everything Philippa was not: happy, sexy, and fascinated by Ralph. She touched him and herself a lot - she would push her hair off her face, then pat his arm, then hold her hand to her throat, then push his shoulder playfully. She seemed very interested in his experiences in France.
To Ralph's annoyance, Merthin came into the tavern and sat down with him. Merthin was not running the Bell himself - he had rented it to the youngest daughter of Betty Baxter - but he was keen that the tenant should make a success of it, and he asked Ralph if everything was to his satisfaction. Ralph introduced his companion, and Merthin said, 'Yes, I know Ella,' in a dismissive tone that was uncharacteristically discourteous.
Today was only the third or fourth time the two brothers had met since the death of Tilly. On previous occasions, such as Ralph's wedding to Philippa, there had hardly been time to talk. All the same Ralph knew, from the way his brother looked at him, that Merthin suspected him of being Tilly's killer. The unspoken thought was a looming presence, never addressed but impossible to ignore, like the cow in the cramped one-room hovel of a poor peasant. If it was mentioned, Ralph felt that would be the last time they ever spoke.
So tonight, as if by mutual consent, they once again exchanged a few meaningless platitudes, then Merthin left, saying he had work to do. Ralph wondered briefly what work he was going to do at dusk on a December evening. He really had no idea how Merthin spent his time. He did not hunt, or hold court, or attend on the king. Was it possible to spend all day, every day, making drawings and supervising builders? Such a life would have driven Ralph mad. And he was baffled by how much money Merthin seemed to make from his enterprises. Ralph himself had been short of money even when he had been lord of Tench. Merthin never seemed to lack it.
Ralph turned his attention back to Ella. 'My brother's a bit grumpy,' he said apologetically.
'It's because he hasn't had a woman for half a year.' She giggled. 'He used to shag the prioress, but she had to throw him out after Philemon came back.'
Ralph pretended to be shocked. 'Nuns aren't supposed to be shagged.'
'Mother Caris is a wonderful woman - but she's got the itch, you can tell by the way she walks.'
Ralph was aroused by such frank talk from a woman. 'It's very bad for a man,' he said, playing along. 'To go for so long without a woman.'
'I think so, too.'
'It leads to...swelling.'
She put her head on one side and raised her eyebrows. He glanced down at his own lap. She followed his gaze. 'Oh, dear,' she said. 'That looks uncomfortable.' She put her hand on his erect penis.
At that moment, Philippa appeared
Ralph froze. He felt guilty and scared, and at the same time he was furious with himself for caring whether Philippa saw what he was doing or not.
She said: 'I'm going upstairs - oh.'
Ella did not release her hold. In fact she squeezed Ralph's penis gently, while looking up at Philippa and smiling triumphantly.
Philippa flushed red, her face registering shame and distaste.
Ralph opened his mouth to speak, then did not know what to say. He was not willing to apologize to his virago of a wife, feeling that she had brought this humiliation on herself. But he also felt somewhat foolish, sitting there with a tavern tart holding his prick while his wife, the countess, stood in front of them looking embarrassed.
The tableau lasted only a moment. Ralph made a strangled sound, Ella giggled, and Philippa said, 'Oh!' in a tone of exasperation and disgust. Then Philippa turned and walked away, head held unnaturally high. She approached the broad staircase and went up, as graceful as a deer on a hillside, and disappeared without looking back.
Ralph felt both angry and ashamed, though he reasoned that he had no need to feel either. However, his interest in Ella diminished visibly, and he took her hand away.
'Have some more wine,' she said, pouring from the jug on the table, but Ralph felt the onset of a headache, and pushed the wooden cup away.
Ella put a restraining hand on his arm and said in a low, warm voice: 'Don't leave me in the lurch now that you've got me all, you know, excited.'
He shook her off and stood up.
Her face hardened and she said: 'Well, you'd better give me something by way of compensation.'
He dipped into his purse and took out a handful of silver pennies. Without looking at Ella, he dumped the money on the table, not caring whether it was too much or too little.
She began to scoop up the coins hastily.
Ralph left her and went upstairs.
Philippa was on the bed, sitting upright with her back against the headboard. She had taken off her shoes but was otherwise fully dressed. She stared accusingly at Ralph as he walked in.
He said: 'You have no right to be angry with me!'
'I'm not angry,' she said. 'But you are.'
She could always twist words around so that she was in the right and he in the wrong.
Before he could think of a reply, she said: 'Wouldn't you like me to leave you?'
He stared at her, astonished. This was the last thing he had expected. 'Where would you go?'
'Here,' she said. 'I won't become a nun, but I could live in the convent nevertheless. I would bring just a few servants: a maid, a clerk, and my confessor. I've already spoken to Mother Caris, and she is willing.'
'My last wife did that. What will people think?'
'A lot of noblewomen retire to nunneries, either temporarily or permanently, at some point in their lives. People will think you've rejected me because I'm past the age for conceiving children - which I probably am. Anyway, do you care what people say?'
The thought briefly flashed across his mind that he would be sorry to see Gerry lose Odila. But the prospect of being free of Philippa's proud, disapproving presence was irresistible. 'All right, what's stopping you? Tilly never asked permission.'
'I want to see Odila married first.'
'Who to?'
She looked at him as if he were stupid.
'Oh,' he said. 'Young David, I suppose.'
'He is in love with her, and I think they would be well suited.'
'He's underage - he'll have to ask the king.'
'That's why I've raised it with you. Will you go with him to see the king, and speak in support of the marriage? If you do this for me, I swear I will never ask you for anything ever again. I will leave you in peace.'
She was not asking him to make any sacrifices. An alliance with Monmouth could do Ralph nothing but good. 'And you'll leave Earlscastle, and move into the nunnery?'
'Yes, as soon as Odila is married.'
It was the end of a dream, Ralph realized, but a dream that had turned into a sour, bleak reality. He might as well acknowledge the failure and start again.
'All right,' he said, feeling regret mingled with liberation. 'It's a bargain.'