The Very Best of Kate Elliott Page 22

  “Who is this girl?” the Duke asked one of his attendants, a certain Count Leudast.

  “I do not know,” said Leudast, and he turned to another man and ordered him to speak to Merofled.

  The servant asked her name and she answered, boldly and not without pride.“I am called Merofled, daughter of Berulf and Ingund.”

  Having had her words repeated to him, the Duke rode on.

  Two

  Duke Amalo was a man of sudden passions, the sort who most wishes to have what he does not yet possess, and being unused in any case to having anything denied him.

  This is what he had seen: a handsome girl, in the bloom of youth, and wearing dress that was simple yet clean and well-made, which is one of the marks of good family. As well, she had spoken clearly and without flinching.

  “Find out about this girl,” he ordered his servants.

  One of his clerics inquired in the village and returned to him with these facts: That the girl was of free birth and that she came of good family on both sides, including, as I have mentioned before, the grandfather’s grandfather who had been granted the glory of martyrdom on this earth. That her father, Berulf, paid his taxes regularly to the church, attended services without fail, and was altogether a man of good character whom God had rewarded with prosperity. That Berulf and his wife gave alms to the poor and had endowed the church in the village with a silver chalice and two finely woven tapestries, one depicting Judith and Holofernes and the other showing St. Martin giving half his cloak to a poor man.

  Duke Amalo mentioned nothing of these inquiries to his wife, by whom he had by this time five children, two of which had died in infancy.

  Three

  For some days after first seeing Merofled by the roadside Duke Amalo went about his business in the usual fashion, hawking, hunting, seeing to his estate. But more than once he led his retinue along the road that led through the village. Finally, when no more than three Sabbaths had passed, he took his clerics and the rest of his entourage and attended mass in the village church. There he tended to his prayer assiduously, kneeling in the front rank of benches with his hands covering his face as befits a pious man. However, rather than praying, he used his hands as a screen so that he might stare at the young woman Merofled without betraying his interest to all and sundry.

  When mass ended, he lavished silver and gold vessels on the church and donated a great deal of money to the support of the clergy, so that all spoke well of him when he left and returned to his estates.

  Four

  By this time, however, Duke Amalo had been seized with a consuming desire for Merofled.

  The next day, therefore, he summoned his wife to him. “It is time,” he said to her, “that you travel to your estate near Andelot so that you might put your affairs in order there.”

  By this means he intended to be rid of her.

  Now, as her estate in Andelot came to her as part of her inheritance from her father, and as it lay near her relations, she was not averse to going, although the journey was a long one. So, suspecting nothing, she agreed. She took their elder sons with her, leaving the youngest son behind.

  Five

  From the shelter of an oak grove, Merofled watched the entourage pass, Duke Amalo’s wife and all her retinue, her women and servants, her priest and deacons, horses, wagons, and a few dogs. Then she walked quickly home, to her father’s hall.

  Now Merofled was not a fool, and if she was proud, it was in part because she had a sharp mind and could see what other people sometimes failed to notice.

  For this reason she found one excuse and then another to stay near her father’s house, never venturing outside the fenced yard that confined the livestock.

  Six

  Meanwhile, Duke Amalo called his steward to him. He carefully wrote up a deed which would transfer the ownership of one of his estates, near Chalon, to Merofled, upon the consummation of their marriage, as was the custom at that time.

  He then sent his servants to the house of her father, where they delivered themselves of this message:

  “With these words Duke Amalo addresses you: ‘I have recently sent away the woman who was my wife, and am now inclined to take a new wife. If this is satisfactory to you, then your daughter Merofled may accompany my servants back to my hall with whatever possessions you choose to settle on her.’”

  Seven

  Berulf was a man of great piety and virtue, but while his good deeds were legion, he was not known for looking over the wall to covet his neighbor’s possessions. Thus he was taken aback by this salutation.

  He retired at once to his bedchamber and sent for his daughter Merofled.“Is this what you wish?” he asked her, not hiding his surprise.

  “Why should I wish to be married to a man who sends his wife away as soon as he sees a woman who appears more comely to him?” she replied. “I would rather be married to a man of my own rank, whom I would not fear. If Duke Amalo should beat me, we would have no recourse, for his relations are more powerful than ours.”

  Her father saw the wisdom in her words and he returned straightaway to the Duke’s envoys and sent them away with his refusal.

  Eight

  Anyone might imagine that this answer did not please Duke Amalo.

  He raged for several days, whipped his hounds, and beat several servants who were slow in obeying his commands.

  Then he threw himself on his knees in front of the altar at the chapel on his estate and prayed. His father had placed in this chapel some relics of Saint Sergius, and Duke Amalo set a copy of the Psalter atop the reliquary. He spent one whole night in prayer and another two days in fasting and vigil.

  After this he opened the Psalter and read from the first verse at the top of the page. It said: “They are utterly consumed because of their iniquities.”

  These words dismayed him, and he wept.

  After this, he did not mention the girl Merofled for ten days.

  Nine

  As the days passed and nothing happened, Merofled began to believe that she had misjudged Duke Amalo’s intent. With a lighter heart, she went about her duties. After some days her father approached her and said these words:

  “My child, it is, alas, time that we thought of a worthy alliance for you.”

  “My lord,” she replied, “we must trust to God to provide what is necessary. If a good match presents itself, I will accept it. If it does not, then I am content to devote myself to good deeds and to God’s work, and to remain a handmaiden of Christ.”

  Berulf accepted this answer gladly, since he was in no hurry to lose his daughter.

  Ten

  One night soon after this it happened that Duke Amalo drank too much at dinner. When he thought of going to bed, he thought at that same moment of the young woman whom he desired. By this time he was completely drunk.

  “Go to her house,” he said to his servants, “seize her, if she will not come willingly, and bring her to my bed.” He went to his bedchamber to await her.

  When the servants came, more than ten of them, to Berulf ’s house, they made their demand.

  Merofled stood up proudly and faced them. “I and my father have already given our reply. Now begone from this house, where you are not welcome.”

  At this, the servants swarmed forward and grabbed hold of her. Her father sent his elder son running to fetch his sword, and even old Theudichild laid about her with her walking stick, but the servants were better armed. Merofled fought against them, overturning tables and chairs, but at last they pinned her arms behind her, tied them, and carried her off like a sack of grain.

  No one in the house dared follow, because of Duke Amalo’s rank and family.

  Eleven

  In this way Merofled was brought to Duke Amalo’s house. Once in the house they set her down and untied her, thinking that now she would accept the honor of the Duke’s attention, but at once she struck about her with her fists and ran for the door.

  It took three men at arms to subdue her.
They hit her in the face until her nose bled and dragged her upstairs to the bedchamber, where, still fighting, she bled all over the bed, staining the covers red.

  Duke Amalo had not waited in tranquil silence while this kidnapping took place. He had taken off his sword and belt and most of his clothing, in anticipation of her arrival. He also had at hand more wine, and when his men dragged Merofled in, he poured a new cup.

  “Leave us!” he shouted, and they hurried out, so that Amalo and Merofled were left alone in the chamber.

  Stanching the blood from her nose, she climbed off the bed and stared defiantly at him.

  “Here is wine,” he said, offering her the second cup, “with which we will drink to the consummation of our marriage.”

  “I refuse it, just as I refuse your offer of marriage, just as I refuse to inhabit your bed.”

  This was too much for the Duke’s uncertain temper. He threw the cup down and it shattered into pieces, the wine staining the carpet a red as deep as the blood that stained the bedcovers. He grabbed hold of Merofled and struck and slapped her. Now he was a man made strong by years of riding and hunting and war, and though Merofled resisted, she was by this time dizzy with the blows she had taken rather than give in to his blandishments, high rank, and threats. Her heart was still strong, but her flesh was weakening from the abuse it had taken, and suddenly she went limp despite her efforts to continue resisting.

  As if this was encouragement, he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed beside him, ready to make her his wife. So overcome was he by her closeness, by the expectation that his desire would now be fulfilled, and by the great amount of wine he had drunk, that he shut his eyes.

  Merofled had given herself up to prayer and to her belief in God’s judgment. She felt Amalo’s grasp slacken just a bit, and taking this as a sign from God she summoned up every last portion of strength that God had granted her. She caught sight of Amalo’s sword where he had placed it on the chest at the head of the bed.

  Stretching out her hand, she took hold of the hilt and drew the blade from its scabbard. Aroused by her movement, Amalo opened his eyes and began to roll on top of her.

  Needing no further encouragement, she struck him as hard as she could with his sword. The blow took him in his naked chest, and he howled in pain.

  At once, servants ran into the room. They broke into great clamor while Amalo screamed and moaned. His soldiers grabbed Merofled, disarmed her, and pulled their own knives and swords in order to kill her immediately.

  But Amalo, seeing this, took hold of himself. Weeping, he cried out to them.

  “Stop! The sin is mine, not hers, for I tried to rape her. She only did this to preserve her honor. Do not hurt her.”

  As soon as these words left his lips, his eyes rolled up in his head, blood poured from his mouth, and he stopped breathing.

  By this time others of his family, relations and servants, had come rushing into the chamber to see what the commotion was about. When he died, a cry of grief and disbelief rose from them all and they were filled with consternation.

  Twelve

  While servants and family alike stood in the room lamenting, Merofled struggled to her feet and, still dizzy, crept out from the midst of that host. They were all so consumed by grief and astonishment that they did not at first notice her escape.

  But with God’s help she made her way out of his house and ran home.

  Now you may imagine the consternation, of a different kind, that erupted in her father’s house when she came in, her clothes torn, her face bloody, her body covered with bruises.

  At first her family covered her with kisses, thanking God for her safe return, but when she told her story, they barred the doors and windows and her old grandmother, Theudichild, began to keen with a new grief.

  “Ah, child, you have brought ill luck on us. Now Duke Amalo’s relatives will ride here and avenge themselves on our house. They will kill my sole remaining son, my grandsons, and no doubt burn down the only house I have ever known. If you had only given in to him, knowing that his power ranks far above ours, you should have had a good marriage gift from him, and we should have had peace.”

  “It is not I who have sinned!” said Merofled. “I have only protected my virginity and the honor of this house.”

  “That may be,” said her father, “but his kinsmen will avenge themselves on you and your family nevertheless.”

  “Then I will go to the King himself and plead my case!”

  Her family protested at once that she could do no such thing, for she was weak from loss of blood and from the beatings she had sustained, and the roads were not always safe.

  “God will guard me,” she said. She washed her face and limbs and she put on clean clothes.

  Thirteen

  At dawn, she took her father’s gelding and two servants and without fear set out on the road to Chalon, where it was said that King Guntram was now staying, for in the month of September he liked to celebrate the feast day of Saint Marcellus in the church dedicated to the saint.

  A full thirty-five miles she rode, and when she came to the city of Chalon, she went directly to the church. The King and his entire retinue were worshiping in the church, but Merofled walked into the church without hesitation. She begged to be brought before the King. When his guards admitted her to his presence, she threw herself at King Guntram’s feet and in plain language told him everything that had happened to her.

  Because he was a God-fearing man, King Guntram was filled with compassion for the young woman. He rose. Every person in the church quieted in order to hear him pass judgment.

  “God has already passed judgment in this case,” he said.“I would not challenge what he has allowed to come to pass. For this reason, I grant you, Merofled, daughter of Berulf and Ingund, your life, for you have lawfully protected yourself against theft.”

  “What of Duke Amalo’s relations, King Guntram?” she asked boldly. “I am of free birth, and my family is a good one, but we cannot protect ourselves against any revenge they might intend, for they are more powerful than we are.”

  He nodded, for this was indeed a reasonable concern. “Then I place you under my protection, and I prohibit any of the dead man’s relations from exacting vengeance on you or your family.”

  So it was done.

  Fourteen

  With this royal edict in hand, Merofled rode home, having protected herself from Duke Amalo’s brutal attentions and her family from the vengeance of his kinsmen.

  Nor have I heard that any other incident disturbed her life, which, with God to guard her, proved both long and prosperous.

  MY VOICE IS IN MY SWORD

  A JARAN STORY

  WE KNEW WE WERE in trouble when Macbeth insisted on seeing the witches first.

  You know the bit: Banquo and Macbeth enter and Banquo says, “‘What are these, so wither’d and so wild in their attire?’” That’s his moment, when he points out the three witches to Macbeth and Macbeth sees them for the first time, those three terrible hags who will hail Macbeth as king when of course he isn’t king yet and will only become king by murder most foul.

  Have you heard about actors who won’t let any of the other actors have moments on stage that are theirs alone?

  “Hey,” said Bax to Yu-Sun, who was playing Banquo in drag, “I’ll see the witches first, and then I’ll tap you on the shoulder and you see them and say the line.”

  I propped my feet up on a stool and looked at Octavian and Octavian looked at me, and we both sighed. No doubt you’re asking yourself where the director was, who might correct this little bit of scene-stealing. Well, he was right where he ought to be, sitting at a table staring at the taped-out stage where the five actors walked through the scene. He didn’t say a word. How could he?

  So they went on. The witches say their lines and Macbeth and Banquo say a few more, and just before the witches vanish, Bax got in a feel to Emmi’s breast, just grabbed it, and Emmi went all stiff in the face an
d twisted away from him, and for all you could tell from El Directore’s face, he hadn’t seen a thing. But Emmi did double time off to the side, looking like steam was about to pour out of her ears. Enter Ross and Angus.

  I’m Ross, by the way. The big joke is that I always have to play Ross in the Scottish play because my real name is Ross.

  By the time rehearsal was over, Bax had managed to grope another witch and twist King Duncan’s arm so hard while offering fealty that it actually brought a tear to old Jon-Jon’s good eye. We retired to nurse our wounds, en masse to the hostel where we were sleeping, and Bax made a grand exit with his three lamias—one in each shade—to wherever it was a star of his stature stays on an alien world with a limited number of oxygen-rich chambers in which humankind can breathe.

  “Lady Christ in Heaven,” said Emmi, massaging her bruised breast while Jon-Jon examined his wrenched wrist with bemused interest. “I don’t think I’m going to survive four more weeks of this. Where’d he get you, Cheri?”

  Cheri—Second Witch—shrugged. She’d probably endured worse, back when she was a hootch dancer on Tau Ceti Tierce.“Crotch. What a pig.”

  “But Cheri, my dear,” said Octavian quietly,“he’s a Star.”

  Kostas—who should have been playing the lead but was playing Macduff instead—peered down from his bunk. “Why is it that Stars have to prove their legitimacy by doing theater? Can’t they stay on their holies and interactives and leave us to do what we’ve trained for? I still can’t believe Bax began directing during the damned read-through. And El Directore didn’t say a thing.”

  “Oh, well,” said Emmi.“I’m sure it’ll get better. It certainly can’t get worse.”

  Emmi, we all had to agree later, would not be auditioning for the role of Cassandra in Troilus and Cressida anytime soon.

  We took two days more to block out the rest of the play and Bax behaved himself, except that he ate sandwiches and drank coffee every time he was on stage, walking around with the cup in one hand and his script in the other. When he fought and killed young Siward for the first time, he ate a sandwich during the fight scene and dribbled crumbs onto poor prostrate Ahmed—who was doubling as Donalbain and young Siward—while he said his lines.