Ralph!’ he cried as the door opened.
It was a miracle. Today he had felt the first urgent desire to remain here. Whereas the place had appeared dismal before, now it was blessed with the angelic presence of Mary. He could not dream of going elsewhere. Why live in Exeter when there was such a heavenly influence on this delightful vill? And now his father had arrived. Perhaps this was a message from God, that Mark should broach the subject of his paternity while he had the chance?
‘Sir Ralph, I am so glad you have–’
‘Be silent, boy! I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. What was
she
doing here?’
Mark gaped. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t piss about with me!’ Sir Ralph said, ominously taking a step forward. ‘What was Mary doing here?’
‘Mary? She came by to talk about–’
Sir Ralph grabbed a handful of his robe, pulling him close. ‘Well she won’t do so again. I know about clerics, about what you get up to with women! I’ve heard of monks getting their women pregnant by telling them it’s a penance they have to undergo – all sorts of crap! I won’t have it here. You touch her – or any other peasant woman here – and I’ll make you regret it! Understand?’
Long after he had gone, Mark sat shaking his head in disbelief. All this time he had hoped for a reconciliation with his father, an opportunity to explain who he was, and now, before he could open his mouth, Sir Ralph had already formed the opinion that he was a callow, womanising clerk like so many others. It was unfair! He must find the right moment to speak to Sir Ralph again, explain that he wasn’t trying to molest Mary.
Sir Ralph could help him, if he accepted his paternity, and make Mark’s future considerably more rosy. Surely he must accept his responsibility!
For a moment he fell to wondering whether Sir Ralph would object to his own son seeing Mary. With that, he found a picture of her face appearing in his mind, and soon he was lost in a romantic dream about her. A dream that would indirectly lead not to one death, but to many.
Chapter Three
Unaware of the fears – and hopes – that her impulsive kiss had stirred in the young priest’s breast, Mary hurried home.
The mill was a large building, thatched, and with the great wheel turning slowly on its bearings. It was old, and the walls were cracked and pitted, the cob weakened by a thousand burrowing insects and creatures. In fact, as she glanced about her at the comforting little homestead, she realised that animals seemed to be everywhere. The cockerel stood arrogantly on the log store at the side of the house, the fuel already sadly depleted, while his hens scrabbled in the soggy dirt below him. Nearby, in the shelter of the store, was the old grey cat, cleaning a paw elegantly. He was a vicious brute: he’d scratch or bite as soon as look at Mary, and she left him well alone, for all that he always had this apparent inner calmness, as though he was still a playful little kitten. He paused and turned his evil yellow eyes towards the copse, and soon she heard what had distracted him. In among the trees was the scuffling and grunting of the family’s old sow. The cat returned to his preening and Mary went on to the house.
It was a happy place, and Mary herself had been content through her childhood. Her father was comfortably off, her mother was attentive and loving, and Mary had been appreciated as intelligent and pretty. The idea that before too long she must leave was alarming. Not that she had decided upon a husband yet, but soon she must think of a man. She was of an age where the longer she dallied, the more her looks would begin to fade, and if she wasn’t careful, she would be unmarriageable.
At the door she saw Osbert waiting. Os was an ox-like young man, a little older than her, built like a great bullock, with his stout legs and chest, his thick arms and shoulders, surmounted by a square face under a messy thatch of sandy hair. He was kind and generous,
It was a miracle. Today he had felt the first urgent desire to remain here. Whereas the place had appeared dismal before, now it was blessed with the angelic presence of Mary. He could not dream of going elsewhere. Why live in Exeter when there was such a heavenly influence on this delightful vill? And now his father had arrived. Perhaps this was a message from God, that Mark should broach the subject of his paternity while he had the chance?
‘Sir Ralph, I am so glad you have–’
‘Be silent, boy! I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. What was
she
doing here?’
Mark gaped. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t piss about with me!’ Sir Ralph said, ominously taking a step forward. ‘What was Mary doing here?’
‘Mary? She came by to talk about–’
Sir Ralph grabbed a handful of his robe, pulling him close. ‘Well she won’t do so again. I know about clerics, about what you get up to with women! I’ve heard of monks getting their women pregnant by telling them it’s a penance they have to undergo – all sorts of crap! I won’t have it here. You touch her – or any other peasant woman here – and I’ll make you regret it! Understand?’
Long after he had gone, Mark sat shaking his head in disbelief. All this time he had hoped for a reconciliation with his father, an opportunity to explain who he was, and now, before he could open his mouth, Sir Ralph had already formed the opinion that he was a callow, womanising clerk like so many others. It was unfair! He must find the right moment to speak to Sir Ralph again, explain that he wasn’t trying to molest Mary.
Sir Ralph could help him, if he accepted his paternity, and make Mark’s future considerably more rosy. Surely he must accept his responsibility!
For a moment he fell to wondering whether Sir Ralph would object to his own son seeing Mary. With that, he found a picture of her face appearing in his mind, and soon he was lost in a romantic dream about her. A dream that would indirectly lead not to one death, but to many.
Chapter Three
Unaware of the fears – and hopes – that her impulsive kiss had stirred in the young priest’s breast, Mary hurried home.
The mill was a large building, thatched, and with the great wheel turning slowly on its bearings. It was old, and the walls were cracked and pitted, the cob weakened by a thousand burrowing insects and creatures. In fact, as she glanced about her at the comforting little homestead, she realised that animals seemed to be everywhere. The cockerel stood arrogantly on the log store at the side of the house, the fuel already sadly depleted, while his hens scrabbled in the soggy dirt below him. Nearby, in the shelter of the store, was the old grey cat, cleaning a paw elegantly. He was a vicious brute: he’d scratch or bite as soon as look at Mary, and she left him well alone, for all that he always had this apparent inner calmness, as though he was still a playful little kitten. He paused and turned his evil yellow eyes towards the copse, and soon she heard what had distracted him. In among the trees was the scuffling and grunting of the family’s old sow. The cat returned to his preening and Mary went on to the house.
It was a happy place, and Mary herself had been content through her childhood. Her father was comfortably off, her mother was attentive and loving, and Mary had been appreciated as intelligent and pretty. The idea that before too long she must leave was alarming. Not that she had decided upon a husband yet, but soon she must think of a man. She was of an age where the longer she dallied, the more her looks would begin to fade, and if she wasn’t careful, she would be unmarriageable.
At the door she saw Osbert waiting. Os was an ox-like young man, a little older than her, built like a great bullock, with his stout legs and chest, his thick arms and shoulders, surmounted by a square face under a messy thatch of sandy hair. He was kind and generous,
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