‘Sir 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, always polite to her, as he should be. A freeman, he was invariably poverty-struck, always grateful for the offer of a cup of ale or loaf of bread, so although Mary was a serf and he was free, her status as daughter of a miller meant Os was deferential.
Poor Os. Wherever she went, he followed her with a hound’s eyes, and what made his affection for her more difficult to bear was the way that he ignored Flora, Mary’s sister, who treated him with a reverence she usually reserved for the figure of Jesus in the church. Flora was utterly besotted with Os, a ridiculous passion in Mary’s mind, but there it was. Other girls often had these grand loves. At least Os was better than some.
It was dreadfully difficult. Life was always confusing, but love she found the most distressing emotion of all, because she didn’t feel that way towards any of the men in the vill. Here was Os, a good, kind man, if penniless, who adored her, and she had no feelings for him. Meanwhile, her sister, little Flora, whom she loved, craved Os’s affection more than life itself, but he never noticed because he only ever had eyes for Mary.
Even though Mary did not fancy Os, she couldn’t help but like him, and she favoured him with a smile as she drew near, although his instant beaming grin in return made her regret it.
The gruff voice from inside the mill was a welcome distraction. ‘Mary, my little angel! Where have you been?’
‘Hello, Father,’ she said happily.
‘That’s no way to greet your old man, is it?’ he roared cheerily. He swept her up in his arms, a genial, powerful man with a bushy beard that all but concealed his face. Lifting her high above him, just as he had always done ever since she was a child, he smiled up at her contentedly. She could see his happiness, and she felt her own heart swell in response. When he threw her up and caught her, she put a hand on each of his cheeks and kissed him heartily. Only then did he enfold her in a great bear-hug, before setting her down on the ground and walking away, laughing.
‘He is always happy,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Os replied. ‘He has a good mill, money to keep his children and wife, low rents, two daughters a man could be proud of. What more could he want?’
She had noticed the tone of his voice when he mentioned the daughters, and daren’t look at him. A woman always knew when a man eyed her a certain way, as though he was peering beneath the clothes rather than at them, and although she liked Os as a friend, that was different from wanting him as a husband. Kindly he might be, but that was no substitute for… What? Excitement? Riches? What did she actually want? She had no idea.
‘He is a good man,’ she said a little distantly, deliberately ignoring his compliment.
‘But fearful of the Lord.’
She cast a look at him. Os was gazing absently after her father.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sir Ralph was here a little while ago,’ Os replied. Suddenly he reddened and shot her a look. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to insult your father.’
‘No, I am sure you weren’t. But what about Sir Ralph?’
‘He came here on his horse, puffed up like a cockerel, and walked straight into your home without a by your leave. Left your dad out here with his horse like a common hostler.’
She smiled at his hot tone. He sounded like a child who had been caught thieving apples and had been thrashed for the theft, who was later trying to explain that he was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator. ‘He has been good to us.’
‘He is always after more from all his peasants.’
‘So is every lord, but at least he has helped us. Did you know he introduced my father to my mother? If he hadn’t worked to see them married, I might not be here. He doesn’t treat us so badly.’
‘You don’t think so?’ he snapped. ‘Your father was offended today, and so was your mother. She was upset by his visit. It’s not surprising. When he rode off, your father was glad to see the back of him.’