The Black and the White by Alis Hawkins

Author:Alis Hawkins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2020-03-29T22:00:00+00:00

Later, our clothing restored to its proper state, she looks at me, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

‘Why?’ I ask, my legs still trembling slightly.

She shrugs. ‘Because I fancied you. Because my friend Amice, who was well two days ago, lies dead today.’ She looks at me, steadily. ‘Because we may all be dead tomorrow and I’m sick of waiting for it.’ She brushes her hands down the front of her kirtle as if putting an end to the memory of what we had done together. ‘Besides, they say there’s no marriage in heaven and, if there’s no fucking there either, then we’d better enjoy it while we can.’

What she calls fucking, the church calls fornication. A sin. But, as soon as it enters my head, the thought seems unimportant. Doubtless, priests would tut and impose penance but, in truth, who is hurt by what we have done together? Nobody’s rights have been taken, nobody’s wife coveted. And it was so pleasurable.

She crosses to her child who, bread consumed, is now bored with his own toes and has started grizzling. As she moves away from me, I realise how long we have been in the barn.

‘Christiana, I must go to the court.’ I stand on the cartwheel and pull up the canvas to find the linen bag.

‘Got the letter in there, have you?’

I nod.

‘Come on then.’ The child on her hip, she is a mother once more.

As we walk down the street, I ask her who Piers Alleyne is.

‘Son of the old bailiff, Nicholas Alleyne — he’s set to take over from his father but I reckon he fancies himself better than a bailiff. From what I hear, he’s constantly at young Matilda’s side, she can barely take herself to the privy without him hovering.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘And he?’

‘Twenty-five or thereabouts.’

‘Ah.’

‘Ah, is it? Just because that’s what’s on your mind — and other parts — doesn’t mean that’s what’s on his.’

‘No?’

She casts a sidelong look at me.

‘Is she pretty?’ I ask.

Christiana raises an arch eyebrow. ‘Why are we talking about a girl you’ve never met? What about me? Aren’t I pretty?’

I shake my head, full of new-found confidence. ‘No.’ She punches my arm. ‘You’re beautiful.’

She laughs then. ‘Silly boy.’

But still, she moves closer to me, her shoulder touching my arm as we walk.

‘Does the court always meet under the Saxon oak?’

‘Only in summer, generally. That’ll be Piers Alleyne. Now he thinks he’s bailiff, he won’t want us in the hall. He’ll defend his territory like a dog.’

At the far edge of the village, a stone-built grange comes into sight a hundred yards or so ahead of us.

‘That’s the manor hall,’ Christiana says. ‘The gatehouse is on the other side. The Saxon oak’s there.’

I do not know how to take my leave of her but she solves the problem for me.

‘I’ll see you when you come for the mare and the cart. I’ll give her water when I get back.’

‘Thank you.’

‘If I’m not in the house, look for me next door.’ She gives me her dimpled smile and, swinging her child to her other hip, she walks away.

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