A Place Beyond Courage by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

of the stony ground under the thin kidskin soles of her shoes to anchor her to reality.
    John was waiting for her in the cathedral’s porch. At his side, resplendent in a chasuble of glittering white and gold, stood Henry, Bishop of Winchester, brother to the Count of Mortain. Aline took a single frightened glance, then gazed at her feet. Step, step, step. She was afraid to look up beyond darting glances. John was so tall, so handsome - a distant stranger to her, and familiar with this world as she was not. He was surrounded by other clerics and courtiers, all talking quietly and at ease with the moment, but all Aline could see in her fear was a blurred glitter of colours, silks and jewels. She groped for the prayer beads looped at her belt and clutched the smooth, warm pieces of amber for reassurance.
    Robert of Chichester, Dean of Salisbury, stepped forward to stand representative for her family. His expression was kindly and taking her hand, he gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. ‘Courage, daughter,’ he murmured.
    The kindness in his voice made Aline want to burst into tears, but at the same time, it stiffened her resolve. There was no way to go but forward. Taking a deep breath, and the final steps, she let him bring her to John’s side.
    She knew what she had to say. Even in her state of high anxiety, she managed to stutter ‘ Volo ’ in response to the Bishop’s question concerning her willingness to take John for her husband and keep him in sickness and in health. But still her voice was small and soft and seemed to lose itself against the imposing and colourful backdrop. John’s in contrast was firm and strong. His hand was steady and dry as he slipped a gold, sapphire-set band on to her right index finger and said, ‘With this ring I honour you. With my body I wed you.’ The ring fitted her finger perfectly. Aline shivered, for the vows they were making were irrevocable before God.
    Once the pledges had been spoken and witness borne to the contractual aspects of the bond, the gathering entered within the church to celebrate a wedding mass. Aline relaxed a little. The familiar rituals were balm to her soul. Her fingers moved with certainty over her prayer beads. She admired the rich church furniture, the beautiful colours of the mural, the purple silk altar cloth; she inhaled the wonderful scent of incense. She listened to the Bishop’s voice rising towards God, declaring that matrimony was an honourable estate, and suddenly, amid all the conflicting, worrying emotions, felt a bright thread of happiness. She peeped several glances at John and thought how fine he was. Her husband ordained by God and sanctioned by the Church.
    Following the mass, John took her hands in his and kissed her, but in formal ceremonial manner with lips closed. Restrained and refined. Others crowded to embrace and congratulate them, very few known to Aline. She blushed and kept her head down and eyes lowered. A stubby forefinger chucked her beneath the chin and she found herself being appraised by a stocky, grey-haired man clad in a short green mantle. The people around her, John included, all knelt and she realised belatedly that this must be the King. Mortified, she started to curtsey, but he prevented her with a hand under her arm and gestured everyone else to rise. He had not been present at the wedding, but had obviously come from other business to well-wish. He kissed her soundly on both cheeks, leaving a damp imprint and the feel of his beard. ‘My marshal is a fortunate man in his bride,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘May your union be blessed and fruitful.’
    ‘Thank you, sire; it is as God ordains, but we will do our best,’ John replied with a smile in his voice. Blushing furiously, Aline looked down again.
     
    John found it strange to be sitting in the place of honour at his wedding feast, and not officiating as he would usually be doing in such circumstances. His deputies were charged with the task,