Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

The priest blinked and Thomas could almost read what was going through the man’s mind. To argue that God had not granted any abundance, no matter how it heated the blood, seemed rather blasphemous. To argue that England wasn’t an especially blessed land to have it might cast doubt on his own loyalty to good King Henry and the Baron Adam who sustained him. Anselm resolved the entire dilemma by raising his cup in a vague toast to God and king, draining it thoroughly, and grabbing at the sleeve of a passing servant for a refill.

Having silenced one of his companions by driving him deep into a goblet of good wine, Thomas turned to Henry. The man was leaning over the table, a strange lapse in courteous behavior, and his hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. His head was bowed as if in prayer. Thomas glanced at the man’s empty trencher. Henry had eaten nothing. The poor would get little nourishment from his leavings.

Thomas looked down the table at Juliana, then back at his silent companion. Brother and sister were much alike, he decided. Robert might be short like Prioress Eleanor, but he was also muscular. Henry, despite his round, fat face, was as slight in form as was his sister. A weakling son might not sit well with a battle-hardened father.

His curiosity still stirred over the morning events, and Thomas wondered if that was part of the trouble between them. Delicate or not, Henry had certainly shown no hesitancy in drawing a weapon against Robert earlier in the day. Was he trying to prove his manhood? Or did ill will truly exist between the future brothers-in-law?

A loud but pleasant laugh caught his attention and he looked down the high table once again. Next to Henry sat Sir Geoffrey and on the other side was the host, Baron Adam. Immediately to his left was the Lady Isabelle, who sat next to Robert, then the Prioress Eleanor and the Lady Juliana. Sister Anne had chosen to take her meal with the sick boy.

Then the Lady Isabelle laughed once more and Thomas saw her poking at some part of Robert below the table edge. The face of his prioress’ brother turned a deep burgundy as he quickly rose and, after a brief word to his father, left the table.

Thomas couldn’t hear what had been said but noted that his prioress was leaning over to say something to Sir Geoffrey’s wife. Isabelle drew back her head, her teeth bared in a self-righteous smirk. As she did, Henry leaned back in his chair with an audible groan. His robe shifted and Thomas saw one excellent reason for his dining companion’s distress. Henry was suffering from a rather impressive erection.

Seeing the direction of Thomas’ glance, the man blushed and bunched his robes over the offending member.

From just a bit further up the table, however, other eyes had also seen the cause of Henry’s discomfiture. Sir Geoffrey’s face was pale as he slammed his goblet down.

***

During the course of the dinner, Eleanor had glanced down the table several times to look at Brother Thomas, a habit she had tried with no success to break. This once, however, she could blame the wandering gaze on amusement. Thomas was in conversation with the castle priest, his head bent back as far as possible from Father Anselm’s mouth.

She smiled. Indeed, her father’s priest had breath so foul that Satan himself might flee from it. For the preservation of souls at Wynethorpe Castle, this might be a blessing; for poor Brother Thomas, it had most likely turned his stomach quite sour.

She shifted her attention back to her immediate companions and gestured to Robert to give her portion of the boar with its spicy sauce to the Lady Isabelle.

“How can your sister bear to forsake this meat?” Isabelle asked as she licked her lips in anticipation the moment that the extra portion hit her trencher. “Oh, I suppose you took some vow, Lady Eleanor,” she continued, waving the concept away with the hand not occupied with her wine cup. “I would find such things very wearisome.”

As Isabelle spoke, she leaned forward against the table. The gesture not only bespoke ill manners but also presented Robert, Eleanor, and the quiet Juliana with quite the view of her soft and ample breasts. The tightened cloth of her robe also accentuated, with a tantalizing shimmer, two erect nipples.

Eleanor blinked at the blatantly sexual display and hoped Sir Geoffrey had not seen any of it. Had Henry been sitting in Juliana’s place, she thought, he would surely have been outraged at such an immodest display of what should have remained the private charms of his stepmother. Robert, on the other hand, had seen it all. Although he had drunk little wine during the meal, his face now flushed a blotched red.

Juliana shifted uneasily beside Eleanor. “Vows are not tiresome to those who take them, my lady,” she said in a low voice.

“So you may say now, stepdaughter.” Isabelle hesitated ever so slightly. “Vows are right and proper for one of the Lady Eleanor’s vocation for cert.” She slipped a palm under one breast, raising it as if offering a gift. “Still, you are not destined for the convent, are you? It is said that red meat heats the blood and makes one lusty for the marriage bed. You would do well to heed that and fortify yourself well in advance of the day.” She smiled and leaned back into her chair. “Forgive me. I forget. You have never known a man, have you? Indeed, you would know nothing of such things, stepdaughter.” She laughed. “Have no fear, Juliana, before you and Robert marry I will explain what a man and woman do on the night after they take their vows at the church door.” Then she slipped her hand over Robert’s thigh, and her laughter rang sharply over the noise of the diners. “I promise, my lord, that your wife will come well prepared to delight you in the thrust and parry of your marital bed.” She winked in the direction of Eleanor and Juliana.

Robert brushed her hand away as gently as possible. His face turned a deeper scarlet as he rose and bowed to his father. “I beg pardon, my lord, but I must see that the oxen have sufficient hay now that the snows have come.”

Adam nodded and went back to his discussion with Sir Geoffrey.

Robert turned with a perfunctory bow to the three women, muttered the standard courtesy, “much good do it ye,” and left the hall as quickly as good manners allowed.

Although her father’s expression had changed little, Eleanor knew from the movement of his eyes that he had noticed the reason for Robert’s rapid exit from the dining hall. His opinion of Isabelle could not have improved.

She heard a soft groan and turned her head. When Robert left, Juliana had said nothing. Now one tear crested in the corner of her eye and slowly rolled down the woman’s cheek. Her old playfellow may have been her elder by only a year or so, Eleanor thought, but she had the face of a much older woman with eyes sunken into darkness, cheeks gray and hollow with melancholy.

Juliana had once been such a sunny companion, always the first to think of innocent mischief. With a smile Eleanor remembered the day Juliana had climbed a tree and dropped a skirt full of rose petals on the woman who was now her stepmother. At the time, Isabelle had looked up at the impish girl and laughed with a simple joy, blowing at the pink petals drifting down on her as if they were fragile bubbles. The two had been as sisters then, Eleanor remembered. Now they seemed so sad together and much at odds.

Eleanor shook her head at the memory, then leaned over to Isabelle and said in a low voice, “This is neither the time nor place to jest over the marriage night, my lady. No agreement has yet been reached between our families. When it has, there will be much opportunity for such fond ribaldry.”

Isabelle’s fixed smile turned yet more brittle. “An admirable speech from a lady married to Our Lord,” she said, then bent her head in a mockery of a bow. “So that I not offend your virgin ears further, lady, I shall indeed cease what you choose to call my fond ribaldry .” With the petulance of a bored child, she slouched back into her chair and dipped her finger into the pewter cup in front of her and made waves in the wine. Then the brightness in her eyes dulled, she drained her cup in a trice, and her face flushed with the drink.