* * *
Meriel awoke the next morning with the sense that something was wrong. After a moment she identified what: Adrian was not in bed beside her.
Puzzled, she sat up and looked around. She did not see him, but surely she would have heard if he had unlocked the heavy door and left. A thought struck and she slid out of bed and pulled on her rumpled shift, which had ended up on the floor.
Softly she padded across the room to the narrow door leading into the small private chapel. Inside Adrian knelt before the altar, barefoot and wearing a plain tunic that he had casually pulled on. By the soft dawn light she saw that his posture was relaxed and peaceful.
Understanding why, she went and knelt beside him. Adrian reached over and clasped her hand, and together they gave thanks for the blessing of love which they shared. Though Meriel could recite the Church's formal prayers as well as hymns and verses of scripture, she preferred simply opening her mind to the light and peace around her, and she did that now.
The bells of the village church began to ring, calling people to early morning worship. Adrian gently disengaged her fingers and rose. Meriel did the same as she examined her surroundings. While the walls were plainly whitewashed, the furnishings were beautifully made, from the richly carved wood to the jewel-bright colors of the stained glass window. "This is lovely. There's such a sense of peace."
"If so, that is because there is now peace in me. That has not always been so. When my spirit was troubled, even the most beautiful of sacred objects could not enable me to pray."
Meriel's brows knit with immediate concern. "Why were you troubled?"
"Because I was wrestling my own private demons, and losing," Adrian said wryly. "In the years after I left Fontevaile Abbey, I prospered in a worldly sense, winning land and wealth and royal favor. Perhaps as a result, the dark side of my nature grew ever stronger." His mouth twisted. "What is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
Meriel shook her head firmly. "I cannot believe you have such a dark side."
"Everyone has a dark side, and mine is dark indeed." Adrian put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, needing her serenity. "My mother's father, the Sire of Courcy, was one of the wickedest men in France, guilty of the most despicable crimes against God and man. He robbed the Church, broke faith with his liege lord, tortured anyone so unfortunate as to incur his displeasure, and died excommunicate. In Courcy the peasants still make the sign against the evil eye when his name is mentioned. Or when they see me, as I discovered when I visited my cousin who is the present lord."
"Why would they do that?" she asked. "Do you resemble him?"
"Very much so, and not just physically." The terrified faces of the Courcy peasants had given vivid proof of his grandfather's evil. "My mother was a pious, loving woman, and she feared what she saw of her father in me. She raised me to be aware of my own capacity for evil, and to fight against it. She suggested that I enter the Church, and she was wise, for at Fontevaile it was possible to master my weaknesses. But after I left to take up my patrimony, the dark side began to gain the ascendant."
Meriel shook her head again. "I still cannot believe that you are so black as you paint yourself."
Adrian sighed, feeling deeply sad. "You should, beloved, because I behaved very badly to you. And you have never seen me in battle, where a kind of madness takes over and I am capable of anything. That is why I prefer to fight only when necessary. To lessen the likelihood of doing something unforgivable."
She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Is there not more virtue in struggling against evil and overcoming it than in never being tempted to do wrong?"
"Yes," he agreed, "but that supposes one overcomes the evil, which I have not always successfully done."
"Well, if you were already perfect, you wouldn't need to come to earth to grow in grace and humility, would you?" she pointed out. "Even the Lord Jesus himself made a mistake or two when he was here. Surely you are not so much superior to him that you can never be forgiven your errors."
He considered, and found himself smiling. "I never thought of it quite that way. You'd make a good logician, ma petite. But more than that, you yourself are a superb antidote to darkness. Since you began to love me, I have found peace and balance for the first time in my life. I am still a long way from perfect, but I no longer feel that I am poised on the edge of the abyss, a hair's breadth away from doing evil."
Meriel bit her lip. "I'm not sure whether I should be pleased that I can help, or concerned at carrying such heavy responsibility for your soul. What if something happens to me?"
"I would rather not think about that." His arm tightened around her shoulders. "But in spite of what I said, I know that I am responsible for my own soul, not you. It is just that I find it easier to keep it untarnished when you are with me."
Adrian's gaze rested pensively on the altar, and when he spoke next, the subject was only obliquely related to what he had been saying. "The Church is the great force for civilization. Without it men would be little better than the beasts, and probably a good deal worse. One of the best things about Christianity is that it gives us different aspects of the divine to fit our different needs. There is God-the-Father, the all-knowing, all-powerful judge. It is God-the-Father whom I fear when I know I have done wrong."
Then Adrian gestured to the exquisitely modeled crucifix, whose face conveyed suffering, faith, and transcendent joy. "There is God-the-Son, who lived on earth and knows the weaknesses and temptations of mankind, the fears and doubts that trouble us in the night."
Finally he pointed at the circular stained-glass window with its image of a soaring white dove. "And there is God-the-Holy-Ghost, the pure ideals of wisdom and goodness, the abstractions of the spirit."
Meriel smiled and nodded at the lovely statuette of the Virgin in all her sorrowing grace. "Don't forget God-the-Mother."
Adrian chuckled. "That might be heresy, but perhaps you are right. Certainly we need her, for she is all-forgiving love. As are you."
He led his wife from the chapel to the main bedchamber. "I think the Church has one failing. Theologians are always male, monks and priests who lived removed from real life. As a result, the Church too often condemns passion, denying the body and blaming women for tempting men from higher things, when in truth human love is the closest that mortal man can come to the divine."
"What about mortal woman?" Meriel asked teasingly, sliding her arms around Adrian's waist and pressing against him.
He caught his breath, then enfolded her in a comprehensive embrace. "Perhaps you can work on developing a new theology for mortal woman," he murmured, then scooped Meriel up in his arms and carried her back to the bed.
"I'll start later," she promised as she pulled at his tunic. "Much, much later."
Chapter 15
Benjamin l'Eveske closed the book and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his tired eyes. He was getting old. He hoped that he died before it became altogether impossible to read the Law. Having someone else read aloud would not be the same, even if his own son were the reader.
The door opened, and without looking he knew that it was his wife, Sarah, bearing two cups of mulled wine. Silently she handed one to him and sat down, sipping the other herself.
It was another sign of age that hot wine tasted good even on a summer night. They sat in companionable silence, not needing to speak. When his wine was gone, Benjamin said, "I have come to the conclusion that we should go to Shrewsbury. Of the available choices, I think it is the best."
Sarah glanced up. The topic was one they had discussed frequently in the last weeks. "Very well." she said. "I do not care greatly where we go, as long as it is away from London. The city disturbs me. I will feel safer elsewhere."
"The world is not a safe place, especially not for Jews, but Shrewsbury should be better than here," Benjamin agreed. "Stephen has been a good friend to us, if not a strong king, but I
distrust his son Eustace. Stephen is not a young man. He could die at any time, and then what would become of us? All kings squeeze their Jews for gold, but Eustace might take more than money. Living in a town controlled by one of the empress's supporters may be better. It is said Matilda's son is a very pragmatic young man, unlikely to kill those who might help him. If we are lucky, he may be our next king." The merchant looked at his lined hands and sighed. "If it were just us, I would not worry so, but Aaron is young."
"Aye, and too quick-tempered to know when to submit." Sarah wore the faint, doting smile that mention of their son always produced. He had been a late babe, born when they had despaired of ever having children, and was more precious than a storehouse of gold. Turning to the practical, she said briskly, "When shall we leave?"
"Can you organize the household servants and pack what is necessary in three weeks?" When she nodded, Benjamin continued, "Sir Vincent recommended that we follow the old Roman road which is the most direct route. He also offered to supply an escort of the earl's soldiers."
His wife cocked a knowing brow. "But you would prefer otherwise?"
"The more people who know when and how we are going, the more chance of robbers lying in wait. And I would rather be guarded by men who are paid by me."
"Elementary wisdom," Sarah agreed.
"If we go through Oxford and Worcester, we can stay at the homes of friends whom we have not seen in too long." Benjamin stroked his gray-streaked beard. "The southern route would also take us by Warfield Castle. I was disappointed that I could not meet Earl Adrian in person when I was in Shrewsbury, and this would be a good time to remedy that. He has a fine reputation, but there is no substitute for looking a man in the eye."
Once more Sarah nodded her head placidly. Her husband had not built his fortune by being a fool. "If you don't like what you see, we can always return here and find another destination." But she sincerely hoped it would not come to that. She wouldn't mind if she never saw London again.
* * *
Married life suited Meriel gloriously. Her housekeeping tasks were not onerous, for Adrian's household was well trained, and she had the dimly remembered experience that she must have acquired at her brother's manor. Though their respective duties separated her from her husband for part of each day, the rest of the time they spent together, sharing the same trencher and goblet at meals, the same thoughts when they talked, the same pillow when they slept.
There was no great drama in their everyday lives, nor did they need any. They talked, walked, hawked, and laughed, as when Meriel found that Adrian had had a hole cut in the corner of the bedchamber door so that Kestrel could come and go at will. A leather flap covered the hole, and occasionally in the middle of the night Meriel heard it slap softly as the cat wandered off in search of amusement. More often, Kestrel stayed on the bed and learned quickly when her affections would not be welcomed.
Through sunny days and fiery nights, Meriel carried the blissful secret conviction that she had conceived on their wedding night. She would wait to tell Adrian because he would be deeply disappointed if she were wrong, but she prayed that she was right. A child would be the best possible gift to return for all he had given her.
Twice Adrian led his men out, armed for battle, and was gone once for nearly a week. Meriel hated reminders that violence threatened outside the enchanted circle of Warfield. While her husband was matter-of-fact, she could not help but worry about his safety, particularly since there was a blood debt between him and Guy of Burgoigne.
In spite of Meriel's fears, both times Adrian returned unscathed and she gave him the most heartfelt welcome she could imagine. Every day she gave prayers of thanks for the wonder of her life. More than once it occurred to her that such happiness could not last forever, and she instantly suppressed the thought for fear that it was unlucky.
But suppressing thoughts cannot hold back fate.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Adrian was informed that Benjamin l'Eveske wished to see the Earl of Shropshire. He and Meriel were in the garden, where she was enthusiastically describing the plans she had developed, hands flying as she sketched her ideas in the air.
While there was an obligation of hospitality to guests, it was not necessary that the lord of the castle greet visitors personally and Adrian did not welcome the intrusion. Impatiently he asked the servant, "The name is vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it. Who is Benjamin l'Eveske?"
"A Jew, my lord. He said you would know him."
Curious, Adrian said, "Very well, bring him here."
When the servant left, Meriel asked, "Is he a moneylender you have dealt with?"
Adrian shook his head. "I did borrow from a moneylender, Gervase of Cornhill, when I was building the castle, but the debt has been paid and I have contracted no others. I cannot imagine why this Benjamin would think I know him."
A few minutes later the servant returned, followed by a dark, elderly man and a youth who was clearly his son. Both bowed respectfully before the old man spoke. "I was disappointed that I was unable to meet you in Shrewsbury, Lord Adrian. It is most gracious of you to admit me today so that I might thank you for your generous invitation."
Puzzled, Adrian tried to make sense of the older man's words. "Forgive me, Master Benjamin, but I have no recollection of having extended any invitations. Have you had business dealings with my steward?"
"I did not think Sir Vincent was your steward."
Adrian's brows came together sharply. "Do you speak of Sir Vincent de Laon?"
"Of course," Benjamin said, surprised.
"He is not of my household, but Guy of Burgoigne's. Burgoigne is the king's Earl of Shropshire," Adrian said with a frown. "Tell me what has passed between you."
The older man gave a succinct summary of Sir Vincent's offer of welcome and protection, including a description of the house in Shrewsbury and the fact that Benjamin's household and worldly goods were now in wagons in the outer bailey.
Adrian swore savagely under his breath. Seeing that not just his visitors but Meriel looked alarmed, he made an effort to moderate his tone when he spoke. "Master Benjamin, you're the victim of a hoax. The house you described is owned by Guy of Burgoigne, and the invitation came from him. Knowing Guy, there can be no good purpose behind it." He thought a moment. "Did you inform Sir Vincent of when and where you were traveling?"
Benjamin shook his head. "It seemed better in these troubled times to let no one know."
"Be grateful for your caution, for it may have saved your lives." Seeing that the older man looked shaken, Adrian waved him to a nearby bench. "You had best sit down. I have heard that Guy is hard-pressed for gold. He might have decided it was easier to steal it than to borrow it. You would be wise to leave Shropshire quickly, and by a different route."
The youth was leaning with concern over his father, whose face was ashen at the thought of the near-disaster. Two goblets stood on the next bench, and Meriel took the one that had been intended for her and pressed it into Benjamin's hand, saying softly, "Drink some wine, you will feel better."
The wine restored the old man's color, and after another swallow he asked hesitantly, "Lord Adrian, would you allow us to settle in Shrewsbury? Though Guy of Burgoigne may have been ill-intentioned, Sir Vincent's arguments were good ones. Shrewsbury is well-located and would profit by my trading business."
The request took Adrian by surprise. His brows furrowed, he turned away and paced across the grassy turf, hands clasped behind him as he considered the request. It was true that Shrewsbury would benefit by increased trade, and he now recalled hearing that his visitor was a well-respected merchant with interests in England, Normandy, and France.
But he was also a Jew. Adrian was not of the school that held all Jews personally responsible for the murder of Christ. As Abbot William had once said, someone had to be the instrument of the Lord's death or there could have been no glorious resurrection.
But Jews were unbelievers, the only s
izable community of unbelievers in Christendom. Though the truth was available to them, they rejected it, to the peril of their souls. By their example, other souls might be imperiled. No economic advantage to Shrewsbury was worth such a risk.
He turned to his visitors. "You can settle in Shrewsbury only if you and your household will accept religious instruction from the true Church."
Benjamin sighed, seeming to age right before their eyes. "Do you honestly think that I will consent to such a condition?"
Adrian shook his head. "No, but I would be remiss if I did not at least try. Yours is a stubborn people. Master Benjamin."
"If we were not stubborn, we would no longer be a people." With the aid of his son's arm, the old merchant rose from the bench.
The young man looked challengingly at the earl, "Is Christianity so feeble a faith that Shrewsbury will be threatened by a single household of Jews?"
"Aaron!" the old man exclaimed, gripping his son's arm. His dark eyes fearful, he said, "Forgive him, my lord, he is young and imprudent."
Adrian's face hardened but his reply was level. "Christianity is not feeble, but among the serfs there is much pagan superstition. I wish no more sources of impiety."
The old man's head bowed. "We will leave Shropshire immediately."
Meriel stood on her toes and whispered into her husband's ear. Adrian nodded, then turned to the visitors. "My wife has reminded me that I am neglectful of the laws of hospitality. You and your household are welcome to stay tonight, or several days if you need time to rethink your plans. And when you leave, let me send some of my soldiers to escort you out of Shropshire."
Young Aaron looked on the verge of another remark, doubtless a caustic one, but his father's quelling glance silenced him. Benjamin replied, "It is late and we will be grateful to accept your hospitality tonight. But I have guards of my own and will not need your escort from the shire."
"Are you sure? If Guy of Burgoigne has received word of your presence, he might pursue you."