Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

“I don’t think…” Arthur began haughtily, but Avice cut him off as their door opened.

“What a pretty speech, but I hope you have not been chilled by the wind. Pietro, you must come inside and warm yourself by our fire. Would you join us in a drink? We have some very good wine from Guyenne. Father, if you could see to our guest’s needs, I shall join you shortly. First I must go and tidy myself.”

He gave her a longsuffering look as she walked away. Waving Pietro into the hall, Arthur stood a moment, listening. He could hear her footsteps on the hard floor. As she turned the corner of the corridor to make her way to her room, he heard her suddenly rush. Her sedate walk had been only a masquerade, hiding the urgency of her mission, and as soon as she knew she was out of sight, she had hitched up her skirts and run.

Her determination, even at the risk of upsetting her father, made him eye the Venetian sourly, but the boy kept his gaze fixed firmly to the door where Avice would return. Arthur cleared his throat irritably, and at last the Venetian gave a start and recalled the presence of his host.

“Well, Pietro? Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, please, sir. Some wine would be very pleasant.”

His apparent nervousness endeared him to the merchant, and Arthur nodded to the steward. “Bring wine and three goblets.”

“This is a very splendid house, sir,” Pietro said hesitantly as the servant departed.

Arthur could hear the tremble in his voice, and felt warmer toward the lad. He could remember his own courting of Marion, and the gut-wrenching horror of being alone in the same room as her father under similar circumstances, terrified lest an unwary word should offend and blight his chances. “We were lucky to be able to rent it at short notice,” he said diffidently.

“It’s not your own?”

“No, we only come every second year to the Tavistock Fair. There’s no need to come more often than that. What would I do with a place such as this for the rest of the time?”

“And your good lady wife? She is with you here?”

“No, she is at the fair, buying many things she needs at home. She’ll be back later. Where are you staying? Do you have your own house?”

The Venetian shook his head. “No, we are staying in the Abbey while my father negotiates with the Abbot. Abbot Champeaux has a good-sized flock of sheep and wishes to guarantee the best prices for his wool. My father has ships and could help transport the wool abroad, and with his banking interests we may be able to help the Abbot in other ways.”

That gave Arthur pause for thought. The boy was offhand about his father’s work, but he knew his position in the world. If Antonio had a banking business and access to ships Pietro’s family were not only prosperous, they were affluent. Arthur had met some bankers, mainly from Florence and Genoa, and knew how much wealth the city-states had accumulated through their dealings with the east. If this young man was the son of a banker, he would be a far more useful son-in-law than John of Hatherleigh. Marriage into a baronial family was one thing – getting Avice connected with a foreign trading business was another. Arthur began to see possibilities in Pietro. It might even persuade Marion to change her mind.

“And what then?”

“My father will return to Venice.”

The servant returned with his tray and set it down on a table. He passed the wine to the Venetian. Arthur took his own and gulped greedily. If there was one thing he would never get used to, it was this ritualized process of purchasing a husband for his daughter. He loathed the thought that it must inevitably lead to his pure and sweet Avice being tied to some callow youth he had no knowledge of, like John, purely because he was titled. What if he was the kind who regularly beat his woman? What about this Venetian? He shot a glance at Pietro. It was so venomous that the young man spilled wine over his lap. He was still staring at it in dismay when they heard the steps in the corridor.

Arthur was pleased to hear Avice’s hurrying feet slow as she approached the doorway. By the time she came into view, her breathing had almost steadied. Arthur sighed when he saw the crimson tunic shot through with golden threads that shimmered in the candlelight as she walked. It was, he knew, her favorite dress, and it showed off her colors to perfection, the crimson glinting just as did the auburn tints of her hair as she walked past sconces and candles.

She ignored her father, preferring to speak directly to Pietro. Arthur knew all her moods, and today he could see she was minded to win the heart of the youth.

He was still eying Pietro appraisingly when he heard his wife’s voice. His eyes shot guiltily to the doorway as she came in.

Marion stood taking in the scene a moment. Avice met her steady gaze defiantly. Looking at the Venetian, Marion saw his ardent expression, and her own face hardened.

“My dear, let me present Pietro da Cammino. You remember, we met him and his father on the ride here.”

She inclined her head gracefully. “I was not expecting to find a guest. Please forgive me for not being here to greet you.”

“Don’t worry, Mother. Father and I have entertained him.”

“I am sure you have, Avice,” said her mother with honeyed irony. “And now, sir, I am sure you will excuse us, but we have many purchases to sort through. Avice, please come and help.”

“Can’t your maid help you, Mother?” said Avice coldly.

“I would prefer my daughter to show her excellent taste,” Marion said, and only someone who knew her could have told that her gentle voice hid a steel resolution.

Avice sat still, inwardly raging that her mother should demand her attendance as if she were a mere serving girl. She was tempted to refuse and continue speaking to Pietro, but she knew that her mother would wait, outwardly patient, until obeyed, and eventually Avice would obey. She had no choice while she lived under the same roof.

But she could demonstrate her rebellion, and she did so now. She stood, and smiled dazzlingly at the Venetian, curtseying politely, before turning and leaving the room, ignoring her mother.

Marion had not finished. She turned to her husband. “It is always nice to meet new people, Arthur, but you must be careful now Avice is betrothed. It is best that there is no hint of scandal, for that might endanger her reputation, and the young wife of a noble can’t afford a stain on her character.”

She swept out, and when Arthur saw Pietro’s face, he felt a quick sympathy. The boy looked devastated. “My apologies for that, my friend,” he said kindly. “My wife holds strong feelings when it comes to her daughter. It is no reflection on you, of course.”

Pietro hardly heard him. Marion’s meaning had been all too clear to him. Avice was betrothed! His argument with his father was in vain. He couldn’t have her anyway.

Then a firm resolution strengthened him. He could not have mistaken Avice’s mood. She wanted him as much as he desired her. He would win her. He must.

Rising, he thanked the merchant, explaining he had business to attend to.

In the street, he stared back at the house before turning to walk down the hill toward the Abbey. After only a few yards there was a whistle, and he spun to see his father’s servant leaning negligently in the shadows against a wall. “What are you doing here, Luke? Father told you to check on me, did he? You can tell him that his precautions seem unnecessary.”

Luke glanced at the building with frank amazement. “She rejected you?”

“Oh no. Not she.” Pietro gazed into the distance as they began walking back to the Abbey. “She seems as interested in me as before. No, it is her mother who wants to keep me from her.”