A Vision of Light (8 page)

“Sisters will always say that, but have you never taken notice of the cleft in his chin, where the new beard has started to grow?”

“He’s pockmarked, Mary.”

“The lightest marks in the world. They give character to his face.”

“He’s brutal—suppose he beats you?”

“How could he beat me, his own true love?”

“He’d beat me, his own true sister, if he could catch me. He hits his own mother when supper’s not to his pleasure. Why not you?”

“You’ll never understand. He’s taller and handsomer than any of the other boys, and he has pledged me his love forever.”

“Oh, Mary, can’t you understand, he’s betrayed women before? You should be wary.”

“Oh, how we’ll love each other when we are sisters, Margaret. But like all younger sisters, you’re a bit sour on your brother. Why, he has told me that his heart was stolen by my beauty. A sister can never know a man as well as the woman that he loves does.”

I looked again at her long, plain face. Mary was tall and skinny, with dark hair and a face shaped like an amiable hatchet. She was seventeen and passed over already. Will’s a selfish bastard, I thought. He’ll just leave her pregnant and boast about it.

When, before Easter, the king’s call came for armed men for a great campaign in France, then it all seemed certain to me. Will was never the sort to settle down when he could rove and make trouble.

But father grumbled, of course. He didn’t want to lose Will and Rob’s help. Mother pointed out he should look on the bright side. They wouldn’t be leaving until after May Day, and then David would be home for the entire summer, before he went away to the university. So that was quite a bit of help. And besides, he was fortunate that he didn’t have to go himself, she said, for as old and as soft as he’d got, he wouldn’t last long, with all the hardships of the camp and battlefield.

“You say I’m weak, woman?”

“Why, no, just fortunate.”

“I’ll show you fortunate!” and he grabbed a poker and chased her around the fire and out into the street, where he soon enough ran out of breath. Mother left him wheezing before the house.

“Old idiot, his lungs are gone. There’s nothing left in him but boasting.” And she went back to her work.

Just before Easter week a gray friar came to preach, and it was a great event that caused much stir. He was a clever speaker, who explained God’s will much more clearly than Sir Ambrose. He told us that God loves the poor best, and everyone nodded and agreed. Sir Ambrose says that God loves the obedient best.

“Well enough, those who are obedient are bound to be poor,” observed old Tom, and that seemed to resolve the issue.

Easter passed, and it was soon enough time for May Day, which is a merry celebration, despite all Sir Ambrose can do. I think he gave up, as he got older, for May Day had been around a lot longer than he had. They even say the old priest who died before him kept May Day with us, but then, he kept hunting dogs, too, and was altogether a different sort of fellow. All sorts of things happen on May Day, to judge by the number of christenings nine months after, and there is dancing, and mumming, and drinking, and every kind of trick played.

The master of the May Day feast is Robin Hood, and he is chosen with his lady, Maid Marian, from the best-looking young people in the village. This year it was handsome Richard, and of course I was chosen as Marian. The biggest one is made Little John, and he challenges all comers. But the choicest role is that of Friar Tuck, which is given to the wildest fellow in the village. For the whole festival, before and after the play of Robin Hood, he has license to play whatever trick suits him. Brother Rob donned the Friar’s habit this day, in honor of his having thought of the scheme to get vengeance on the miller.

No one looked finer than merry Richard, as, flushed with ale, he led out the round dance.

“No one is more beautiful than you, Margaret,” he whispered as we crossed in a dance figure. “No one more beautiful at all,” as we crossed again. Finishing the dance, he whispered, “Remember to wait for me, beautiful Maid Marian, for I’m sure that my father will soon speak to your parents.”

“And you’ll wait for me, sweet Robin?”

“Always,” he said, kissing me, and vanished. As I watched him go, I sensed that someone had approached me from behind and was waiting patiently for my attention. I turned to see Mary, anxious for conversation, as usual.

“It’s very hot, Margaret.” Mary had approached me as Richard left. “Wouldn’t you like to sit in the shade with me? I’ve things I need to tell you.”

“Is this tree all right, Mary?”

“It’s too much in the open, Margaret, dear, and I wish to be more private.”

“Well, then,” I answered, “let’s walk until we find a good place.”

“It won’t be easy, Margaret, for this day every private place conceals lovers, it seems to me.”

“Then we’ll walk farther. I know of a bower that’s like a little room. We’ll have it to ourselves.” I guessed her private news already, poor girl. I’d think it strange if she didn’t tell me she was pregnant.

“Margaret, I wanted to speak of my love for Will.”

“So I guessed.” By now we had passed away from people’s coming and going. Mary gave me a troubled look. Her face was pale, and there were shadows under her eyes.

“Margaret, he says we cannot publish the banns yet.”

“Then father has given permission?”

“Not yet, not yet, though I think it will be soon. After all, there are so many arrangements. The property…it’s all so
complicated
, you know. And there’s a settlement and a dowry to negotiate.”

“Yes, but, Mary, I don’t know whether he’s even asked father yet.”

“Not asked? Not asked?” Her eyes were wild. “He must have asked. He told me so. Surely you’re joking.”

“Well,” I said soothingly, “I don’t know all of father’s business.”

“That’s true, that’s true. A man doesn’t tell a woman everything.” She hesitated. “But I must speak with you, you see. If the banns aren’t published now, there’s no hope of wedding before he leaves.”

“Why, that’s true, but you could wait until he returns. Oh—here’s the place. We’ll just dabble our feet in the water and discuss—EEEEEEEK!”

Both of us, as we bent to enter the bower, had seen something we hadn’t expected—a man most actively engaged among the skirts of one of the two daughters of Watt the Herdsman. The other daughter had her arms around his shoulders and was murmuring, “My turn next. It’s my turn next.” I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I thought I recognized the hose—they were Lincoln green, like Robin Hood’s. Then it was beyond a doubt. Richard Dale’s curly head rose from among the flailing skirts with an aggrieved look.

“Is this how you
wait
?” I said fiercely, tears running down my cheeks.

“Men are different from women, Mistress Holy Virgin. Be a little generous. We have needs. A real woman understands a man’s needs—”

“Like us,” broke in one of the sisters. “If a man’s promised marriage, it shows honest intentions. Like with us. Let’s pretend again it’s our wedding night, dearest Richard.”

“Then me,” spoke up the other, and made a face in my direction.

“She just doesn’t understand men,” said Richard consolingly to the sisters, and he coolly resumed his work. I turned on my heel, too angry and humiliated to think of anything cutting enough to say.

“Come away, come away this minute,” said Mary, pulling at my sleeve.

“Anyway, you can’t marry both at once,” I turned and shouted back to him in a fury. Why are we always too late with a clever reply?

“Of course he can’t. Of course he can’t, Margaret, dear. And if he marries a hundred cottars’ daughters, he’ll get not a penny between them all. If he’s so vain he’d risk a dowry as good as yours for a bit of pleasure, then you don’t want him at all.”

“But I
do
want him—or I
did
want him. I just feel so terrible.”

“Don’t let anyone see it, dear.
I
don’t let anyone see it. And the baby will show soon, and he’s going away to be killed, and I won’t even be a widow!” And she soon passed from weeping to howling on my shoulder. And I howled on hers. When we were done, we put plenty of cold water on our eyes until our faces looked less swollen.

That night we ate and drank like gluttons. For although I must sit next to Robin Hood at the head of the table, just as she sat next to Will, there is no better way of ignoring things like that than eating and drinking yourself sick.

“Here’s to Maid Marian, the greatest beauty and the greediest face ever seen!” toasted the village rowdies, and I raised the cup again to the swarm of faces that seemed to multiply and swirl around the table. Already the weaker souls had passed out, but those with greater powers stayed and caroused until nightfall. I would, I would, outdrink Richard Dale! He sat beside me, too proud to even get up to piss, though I figured he couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Pour me more, brave Friar,” I cried, “for I can outdrink any man here!” A cheer went up for wicked, wild Maid Marian. Never tell me a woman can’t hold it! I tipped the cup and drank half.

“The last is for you, bold Robin Hood,” I cried, and extended the cup to Richard Dale.

“That girl is her father’s daughter, that’s for sure. Who’d have thought that old ale-sack could pass on his talent like that?” The old-timers respect nothing better than a powerful drinker. It is, after all, their own main amusement.

Richard turned all pale, and sweat stood on his temples. I knew, as I watched him shudder and drink, that I had him at last. With a wonderful, malignant pleasure I watched him turn all green around the mouth. His eyes seemed to roll in different directions. Then, with a hideous gurgle, Robin Hood vomited up everything and fell off the bench in a dead faint.

“Hurrah! Maid Marian triumphant!” cheered those who remained at the table. I stood and bowed, waving the empty cup, until I suddenly realized things were not all that well with me either. A little hastily I dismissed myself to take care of my own needs elsewhere.

It was already growing dark as I returned to the back door, but dark or light, it didn’t matter, for I couldn’t see straight. As I fumbled for the door latch, a heavy hand caught my shoulder and spun me around, pinning me to the wall.

“Beautiful Margaret,” a drunken voice mumbled. I could not see who it was. A hand mashed my breast, and a stinking, hairy mouth closed on mine. I turned my head away.

“Just one kiss. I’ve seen you kiss Richard Dale. You’re not so pure. Give me one. You owe me.”

I recognized the voice now.

“Father! Get away from me!”

“You owe it, you owe it, pious little bitch. So prissy. So holier than thou. All that holy water. I’ve fed you long years, I’ve raised you. You ate my food…” He was terrifyingly drunk. A tear rolled out of one of his eyes. “And she won’t kiss her father, not one little kiss for her father—plenty for everyone else….” The hand mashed me, and as he pinned me against the wall with his full weight, the other hand reached for my skirt.

“For the love of Christ, father, get off. Stop this!”

“Love, that’s it, love—you owe me.” His breath was sour with ale.

“I don’t owe you this! I don’t! It’s not decent! God doesn’t want it!”

“Of course it’s decent. Lots of men do it. Who’s the best to break in a girl? Her father, that’s who! The miller did it. Why, if the father doesn’t, the lord of the manor does, on the first night….” Always the miller! Why must everything start with him?

“That’s not so, not so! Not these days! Not here! Not me, not ever! Get off!” My desperate struggle was useless. He was much heavier than I was.

“I say get away from that girl
now
!” A woman’s voice cried out in the darkness, and with a
thwang!
a heavy iron griddle came down hard on father’s head, knocking him unconscious.

“Oh, mother, mother!” I wept.

“The old bastard jumps on anything that moves,” she observed in a cold voice, looking down at his inert form. “I wondered when it would happen. I watch his eyes, you know. You’re too beautiful. You tempt men without knowing it. It’s time you were wed, girl, the sooner the better.”

“I—I don’t want to wed, mother. Men are awful.”

“Awful or not, you’re better off wed. And to a strong man too. Otherwise you won’t be safe until you’re as old and ugly as I am.”

“I can’t wed, not now—I just can’t.”

“Well, you’ve got Richard Dale, if you’re fool enough to want him. If you wed him, it’s the beginning of a life of sin and ruin.”

“Perhaps—perhaps he’d reform,” I replied weakly.

“Do snakes reform? Do wolves reform? Womanizing men don’t reform.” Mother sniffed and looked in the direction of father’s body.

“You must consider another thing,” said mother, in a hard voice. “Richard Dale, even if he were a saint, is a bad match. His father’s property is small, and his mother is a villein. The freedom of your children might stand in doubt.”

I had never heard mother speak with such cold logic. But then, I had never heard her calculate the gains to be made by a match before.

“I’ll find a suitable match. I’ve cousins in St. Matthew’s.”