‘Perhaps …’ Julia was hesitant, running the fingers of her right hand over the top of the table, avoiding her mother’s eyes. ‘I mean, if I were to signal my interest to him, maybe he’d be prepared to think me a worthy prize? Instead of harming Father’s business, might he not consider taking me and a dowry?’
‘Possibly,’ Mabilla said, but now her voice was harder. ‘Yet think on this, Julia. If a man was to take you not from love or affection, but because you were a prize won at another man’s expense, or rather, you were another man’s prized possession, and he took you in compensation instead of another reward, just ask yourself how well he would treat such a woman. Would he cherish you, or merely own you like any other chattel? As your mother I should be wary of letting you enter a bargain of that nature, child.’
It was all too true, Mabilla thought bitterly. A man could take a woman without care, without thinking. If he desired her, all too often he would have her, promising her love and adoration for life, and then disappear the moment any proof of his commitment was needed. Yes, Mabilla knew that well enough. Yet at least Julia was not keen on William. That would have been too demeaning and degrading to consider.
‘To live as the unloved wife of a wealthy man would not be so very hard,’ Julia continued. ‘Especially if the alternative was to live in dire poverty without a husband.’
Mabilla bit back her anger. ‘You would be happier living in luxury with your father’s enemy, rather than remaining with us if that same man sued us and ruined us?’
‘I didn’t mean that!’
‘It’s what it sounded like.’
‘No, Mother.’ Julia took a deep breath. ‘I was only thinking that I should prefer to live with him as his wife if that was all it cost me to see you and Father living in comfort. If the alternative was to see you both impecunious, obviously I’d prefer to marry him.’
‘He would be taking you for the wrong reasons.’
‘I don’t know,’ Julia said, and now she stood at the great window, pulling her neckerchief about her again in the draught. ‘He was keen enough before. I believe he loved me. Who can say how his heart is today? Perhaps he would still make me a good husband. It’s worth thinking about, isn’t it? I know how worried you are.’
Her mother grunted, staring back into the flames, but Julia was sure that Mabilla would consider her words. It did make good sense, after all.
‘Well? And what is your feeling about this?’ Udo asked as he completed his offer.
It had taken him time to work out the best means of presenting his suggestion. First, he had thought that he should perhaps threaten the man, saying that if he didn’t agree to let him take Julia, he would continue with suing him for damages — but on reflection, he felt that threatening a fellow in order to be able to take his daughter’s hand in marriage might not be the ideal approach. No, it was better simply to present himself as a keen groom to the daughter, and ask for her hand as would any hopeful swain.
Henry stood gazing at him blankly, and Udo felt a rising irritation that this man had not jumped at the opportunity of having him as son-in-law. He had made his case as best he could, after all. He was surely not such a poor catch, was he? This man’s gormless stare was insulting. He should be glad that Udo had not threatened him with ruin! Udo had gone to some lengths to explain that he had desired a wife for some while, and felt sure that Henry’s daughter would serve him well. She was young and desirable, Udo was old but wealthy. They would make a good match.
Henry cleared his throat. ‘You are asking me for my daughter? You want to marry Julia?’
‘Of course. It would be a good arrangement, so I think.’
‘You expect me to sell my daughter to a foreigner?’
‘I have lived in Exeter for many years, Henry. I am more of an Exonian than many others who are members of the freedom.’
‘I would have to think very hard. And ask Julia.’
‘I am sure she would agree with your advice. She is a dutiful woman, I think.’
‘Perhaps she is, but I wouldn’t tell her to marry against her own feelings.’
‘This would be a good marriage for her. I can support her better than … than most.’
‘You mean, “Better than you, Henry Saddler”.’
‘No, not at all. I was thinking of the other men who could ask for her.’
Henry chewed at his inner lip. He was unsure of the best course. Right now his mind was focused on the friar and what he must say to him in Confession. His eyes wandered over the Close until they reached the Charnel Chapel again.
It was a foul little place. Henry could see again the anguish and naked terror in the Chaunter’s men’s eyes as the first fellow hared down to them screaming that it was an ambush, only to be struck down by the man at the Chaunter’s right hand. He fell without a further sound, tumbling down like a rag doll, by a small depression in the grass. Staring about him now, Henry could see that depression again. If he was of a melancholy disposition, he might have considered that it looked like a grave. Poor deviclass="underline" to be slaughtered like that when all he was trying to do was save them all.
‘Come, now. I want your daughter. Will you not accept? I promise to make her happy, wealthy and wise.’
‘She’s not a piece of property to be bought and sold. She’s my flesh and blood.’
‘You are a stubborn man, Saddler. I expect you to persuade her, though, yes?’
‘I will not force her,’ Henry said, allowing a little testiness into his voice. This foreigner was persistent to the point of annoyance. There was a figure near the chapel, he saw, talking to the Annuellar. A tall, thoughtful man clad in a friar’s greyish-brown robes, his head concealed by a hood.
‘My God,’ he breathed. The figure was stooped, one hand ruined, a mere claw, yet he reminded Henry of …
‘I do not demand that you force her …’ Udo continued.
Henry listened with only half an ear. The man’s clothing was worn and stained from many years of use, but there was something about him. Was he the man who had been attacked, who had been so dreadfully hurt during that night of blood? The friar with the terrible scars whom Henry had seen after leaving Joel’s house? It made the blood still in his veins. This was the man he must talk to! If no one else, that friar could give him absolution. If he could hear the confession of the man who had inflicted those dreadful wounds, Henry could be saved. Damn William, he thought. I will tell the truth at last!
‘Come! All I ask, then, is that you speak to her kindly about me. She must know I am wealthy. After all, you have been worried, I expect, that I would bring a suit against you.’
Henry had not been listening. Now, suddenly coming to the present once more, he was surprised to realise that Udo was still talking. Then his surprise turned to anger as he absorbed Udo’s words. ‘So that is it! You mean, I would be better off if I sold her to you, rather than suffer the risk of you ruining me!’ Henry spat. ‘I would rather see her die a spinster or a nun, than force her into a marriage just because I was being blackmailed!’
‘I did not mean that,’ Udo stated firmly. His own temper was darkening.
‘Leave me! Sue me if you wish, but I won’t help you to steal my daughter just to save myself from your threats!’
‘I do not threaten. Listen to me, Master Saddler.’
‘Leave me alone, Germeyne! I have business with others.’
‘Damn you! If you don’t listen to me, man, I’ll destroy you!’ Udo bellowed as Henry stalked away. He watched as the saddler turned. Slowly and deliberately, Henry bit his thumb at him, and Udo felt the blood rush to his face with his anger as he registered that insult. ‘I’ll destroy you!’ he repeated, more loudly.
Henry closed his eyes, shook his head in a brief, dismissive gesture, and stalked off.
It was tempting to grab his sword’s hilt and hare after him, but Udo swallowed his anger. His face was mottled with his fury, but gradually as he calmed, he saw the other people standing and staring at him. There was a friar up ahead, a couple of labourers behind him, and a pair of the Cathedral’s canons. One he recognised as the Charnel Chapel’s Annuellar, who stood quivering with anger for a moment before launching himself at Udo with the speed and ferocity of a rock hurled from a trebuchet.