“When you return,” she said haughtily, “you may want to change.”
She strode away with her horse, and within moments was out of sight.
For several minutes, Melville remained sitting in the river. The cold began to sink into his bones, but he did not move. He was stunned. Such a thing a woman had never done – not in his knowledge. Ladies simply did not act in this way. A cynical smile broke across his face, and he hauled himself, dripping, onto the grass. Maybe the majority of women did not ride miles alone, physically attack and then push into rivers their betrothed, but Avis certainly did. Melville chuckled as he gathered his belongings and placed them into the packs attached to his horse. This woman was clearly not what he had assumed her to be. But then his face darkened, and the smile disappeared. Despite this new revelation of her character, he still did not want to marry her. Raising himself onto his horse, he sighed. Not that he had much of a choice.
Avis dismounted as a servant came running towards her.
“My lady,” he panted. “My lord Richard requires your presence in the hall.”
Avis groaned. Must he intrude on every part of her life? Was she to have no time to herself?
“Tell my lord I shall join him shortly.” She tried to speak graciously.
The servant looked uncomfortable.
“Now, my lady. My lord was quite insistent.”
Avis took a deep breath, and looked heavenwards. Living here, in her home ran by another, was akin to being a prisoner in a palace. Beautiful, but terribly dark at the same time.
Casting a brittle smile at the servant, she said, “I follow you.”
The two of them walked into the Great Hall just as Richard was chuckling with one of his retainers.
“And here she is!” he turned to her and beckoned her to come towards him. The servant melted away from Avis’ side, and she wished he had stayed. She would have liked all the company that was not Richard that she could get.
“So,” Richard beamed at her, wickedly. “Did you find your husband to be?”
“Indeed I did, my lord.” Avis answered quietly. The knight retainer guffawed, but froze when Avis’ venomous eyes turned to him. Making an excuse, he left, leaving Richard and Avis alone.
Avis also made to depart, but Richard grabbed her arm with one of his fat fists.
“Could not persuade him to return, eh?” He breathed. “I suppose it’s just you and me then.”
Avis tried to prise off the unwanted hand, but he was too strong.
“I have waited for you,” Richard moved closer, and Avis stumbled away from him, unable to catch her balance because he had such a tight grip on her. “And now you are mine.”
“Never.” Avis exhaled.
“Now.”
Richard lunged towards her, but as he moved there was a noise behind her and he halted.
“Melville is on his way!” A herald shouted.
Richard released Avis, and she spun around to see the man who had just spoken. He looked hot and flustered.
“Melville’s coming! We must all to church!”
Richard muttered oaths under his breath. Deep down, he admitted to himself that he had been hoping that Melville had decided against taking this delicate creature for his bride – leaving her for himself. Turning to Avis, he plastered a false smile across his filthy beard.
“Ready?”
As the wedding procession left the manor house, Avis glared at Melville. How could he embarrass her – again! The silence and hesitation at the betrothal feast had been terrible enough, and she knew that she would never forget the laughter and taunts for the rest of her life. But to be late for his own wedding? So late in fact that the entire celebration had to be altered, occurring in the afternoon instead of the morning. So late that the bride herself had ridden out to demand that he return? Avis had never heard of such a thing happening, and she was ashamed to her very soul.
Avis turned her eyes furiously towards Melville, walking alongside her, but he seemed totally unaware of the malice that he was stirring up inside his future wife. He was sweating, but none could tell through the damp patches still covering his shirt. He had been unable to change into clean clothes after his long and difficult ride, and Richard had sworn at him when he arrived, not giving him any time to organise himself.
Melville was decidedly uncomfortable. He knew that he smelt very slightly of river. He felt dirty and disgusting, and surrounded by so many elegant people dressed in their finest, he felt incredibly out of place. Looking across to Avis, he almost jumped back at the vehemence in her eyes. He was not surprised though – if she had arrived at their wedding in a similar state, he would have refused to marry her. His brow deepened as he frowned. It was her own fault – if she didn’t want her husband to smell of dank water, she should not have pushed him.
Richard had warned him again that Avis would be unwilling to speak to him. Melville was not sure whether Richard knew of the events down at the river, but he prayed that he did not. There was only so much humiliation that could be experienced in one day, and Melville felt that he had achieved his quota for today.
Melville turned away from Avis and looked ahead, at the small wooden church at which they would be wed. As they arrived, the local villagers cheered and threw down blackberries on their shoots and old-mans-beard across their path. They were the only living things of beauty that were still in bloom at this time of year, and so it was the best that they could offer. Avis was grateful to them. They had known her as a babe; had watched her grow, and learn, and struggle to accept her place in this world in which women so rarely had a voice. They had remained loyal to her when the Normans had arrived ready for battle and thirsty for blood, and they had paid the price for that loyalty – some of them with their lives.
Glancing sideways at Melville once again, she wanted to point out to him the people that she knew, and ask him where their husbands were, where he thought their sons had gone, why there were so few young women living in this village, and why each pair of eyes that rested on him were filled with fear. But there was no time for that.
Richard came up behind her and grabbed her arm suddenly, causing Avis to jump.
“It is time to say goodbye to your past.” Richard could not have looked more delighted. “You are a Norman now.”
Snatching her arm away, Avis and Melville walked towards the church, towards their fate.
Chapter Eight
The priest of the village met them at the door of the church. Avis saw that his usually sunny smile was overcast with concern. Perhaps he had been warned that Avis had not exactly been willing in this arrangement. Perhaps he had been threatened if he did not perform the marriage. Avis’ heart ached; another person who may suffer because of her, because of what the Normans had made her become. She tried to reassure the trembling man with a smile, but he did not return it.
Avis and Melville stood before the priest with everyone else behind them. Avis caught the women of the village humming softly under their breath, in the traditional way of their ancestors. Unbidden tears began to rise in her large eyes.
“I bring notice to all,” began the priest in a quiet, yet determined voice, “of these two people here before me. They have declared their intent to wed before you all in their betrothal, which none can destroy in all honour. They have understood the decision that they made to come to this door. They are, before us all, to become one.”
A man behind Richard snickered, and Melville turned to glare at the unfortunate man, who cowered under the incensed gaze wrought upon him. He soberly looked at the ground, ears a boiling red. Melville shifted his feet to once again face the priest.
Goodness, how did it come to this. Right now, right at this moment, he was getting married. And not to some woman that he had chosen, that he thought may bring him delight and comfort in his youth, and joy and relaxation in his old age. No, to some ridiculous Anglo-Saxon girl, who had hardly the look of comfort about her. For all her looks of meekness, she evidently had
a wild temper – a temper that he would have to quash at the first opportunity.
But as if she had heard his thoughts, Avis turned up to look at him, as the priest droned on about the joys of marriage. Her eyes…they were full of something that looked like fear, but was not quite that cowardly emotion. Melville almost took a step away from her when he realised what it was. Hatred.
But the priest had finished his introduction now, and Melville had to pay attention.
“Who supports this marriage?” The priest called into the crowd gathered behind the couple, a worried expression on his pale face. “Who supports them in their marriage?”
There was not a sound. Avis was convinced that she really would cry now. At all the weddings she had been to, this had been the moment when a huge cry and cheer had resounded from the couples’ friends and family. But at her wedding – not a whisper. None of the villagers could bear to agree to this charade. So why could she?
“Humph,” Richard coughed, awkwardly. He was not sure what was meant to happen at this point in the wedding proceedings, but he was certain that what had just happened, was not it. “I do. I mean, I support them.”
The priest looked at him gratefully, but was forced back into a look of fear at the anger emanating from Richard’s face.
“Good,” he managed. “That’s good.”
The man of God was sweating now, despite the chilly breeze that tangled around the branches of the trees around the church. Avis pitied him. It was not his fault that he was under pressure to wed a woman that he had baptised as an infant in this very church – to wed her to a brute, a man that they all despised.
“My lord priest,” she said to him deferentially, as was the custom. “You do me a great honour to wed me today. Please, do not hesitate.”
Melville’s eyes widened. All that he had seen from this woman indicated that she was a great noblewoman, of high birth. But here she was, touching the sleeve of a plebeian priest?
But the priest smiled. His hand covered hers, and he murmured something that only Avis could hear.
“Bless you, my child,” he whispered. “And may God forgive me for what I do.”
Avis nodded, but before their hands separated, Richard marched forward and pulled Avis away from the old man.
“Do nothing,” Richard hissed, furiously, “but marry this hussy,” flinging her towards Melville, “to this man.”
The priest wavered, and was about to speak to Richard but Avis stopped him.
“Please.” And now the tears were visible. “Please, my lord. For my sake. Do not anger my lord Richard. For it will do none of us any good.”
The priest looked around at the frightened villagers standing around the church. At the way that the old women clung to each other. At how mothers pulled in their young children closer. And he realised why Avis was paying such a high price.
He swallowed, and continued.
“God brought Eve to Adam, and He knew that it was good. So too do we, in God’s stead, bring forward the lady Avis to this man Melville. We know that this is good.”
The last sentence brought a choke to his voice, but only those that knew him well would have noticed it, and none spoke of it. Within moments, the wedding would be complete.
“Therefore,” resumed the priest, “I consider these two people to be married and one in my eyes, and in the eyes of God. I call you all to recognise them as such. Melville and Avis.”
This time the villagers did speak up in their traditional manner, unable to help themselves.
“Melville and Avis.”
The three words echoed around the crowd like a summer’s breeze. But it was a sad echo, and an echo that died quickly.
“Do you have a token?” The priest muttered to Melville.
Melville looked blankly at the holy man. Token? What on earth did he mean?
Avis sighed, and pulled a delicate gold ring out of the pouch attached to her belt.
“Will this suffice, my lord?”
The priest nodded. “Very well, my child.”
“What mean you with this token?” Melville asked roughly.
The priest blushed in fright, but said nothing. Avis tutted irritably.
“At a wedding, the groom presents his bride with a token,” she explained hurriedly under her breath. “It is a sign of their marriage, and of his provision.” She shot a scornful look up at him. “Although now I have supplied it, I am not sure what this wedding will suggest about our marriage.”
“I did not know!” Melville exclaimed quietly, with resentment in his voice.
“You should have asked!”
“And so,” the priest interrupted, panic now approaching his worried face as he tried to bring the supposedly happy couple to order. “I offer you, my lady Avis, this ring, on behalf of your husband, my lord Melville, as a sign and reminder of this day.”
Avis accepted the ring back, rather ungraciously, and popped it back into the pouch. Well, it was not as if she wanted to wear the object that would continuously remind her of this ridiculous event.
With the look of a man who has just seen the light of the dawn after a very long night, the priest spoke for the last time.
“Melville and Avis.”
“Melville and Avis,” came the answering reply of the crowd, and this time even some of the Normans joined in.
Richard remained silent. He was not going to condone one moment of this shambles of a wedding. But, what was done was done.
Taking Avis by the shoulder, Richard somewhat roughly turned her around to face him, and the other people who had witnessed their wedding.
“And now you are wed!” He said.
“Yes,” Avis replied dully. “Now I am wed. And now I am going home.”
Sweeping her skirts around her, she started to push her way through the throng of people, but once again a hand on her shoulder stopped her. But this was different. This was not the lecherous hand of Richard. This was someone different.
“If you don’t mind,” said a strong voice, “I think we’ll go together.”
Melville took her brusquely by the arm, and began to march her towards the manor.
Chapter Nine
The musicians were incredibly loud and the fire too hot as the merriment of the wedding celebration in the Great Hall continued late into the night. Avis could feel her tight bodice pressing into each of her ribs, and the lace at the back of her spine pressing deep into her flesh. The jewels that adorned her neck flashed in the candle light, reflecting around the room and drawing the gaze of many revellers to her eyes, which perfectly matched the diamonds gently resting on her décolletage. Her eyes stung from the smoke issuing from the huge fire, and all she wanted to do was rest, but still she could not get away. She was a wife now, and it was her obligation to remain at table as long as her husband chose.
But then, Melville did not look as if he was enjoying himself either. She studied her husband who sat on her left hand side; a man that she was now legally tied to her for the rest of her life. His left arm rested heavily on the wooden trestle table, toying with a pheasant bone, his other hand tangled in his own dark hair. Melville looked worried, and his eyes were focussed across the hall. Avis looked, but could see nothing that could have attracted his interest to such a degree. He did not seem to be present in the room, and Avis was offended. Could he not at least try and concentrate at their wedding feast?
“My lord?” she ventured to speak, hoping to force his attentions on her. Despite their argument at the river’s side, she could not help but notice that he was the tallest, most attractive man in the Great Hall. As his wife, she could not help but wish he could be focussed on her.
He grunted at her, not looking away from whatever was fascinating him at the opposite end of the hall.
“My lord, are you quite well?”
“What?” Melville eventually turned to her with a face of contempt. She blushed, and felt the temper that she had inherited from her mother rising up within her. She had never seen
her parents argue which she was thankful for, but she knew that her mother’s temper had been a fierce one to behold once it was unleashed on an unsuspecting victim. It had always been her greatest difficulty, keeping her own temper under control, and as a child she had often been punished for not being able to contain it – but then she was sorely tried by this brute of a Norman!
Avis took a deep breath, and spoke again.
“I was merely enquiring, my lord, if you were well. You do not seem to be enjoying the festivities.”
Melville’s eyes flickered from her face, giving her entire body his full attention for the first time. Avis’ feeling of discomfort increased. He’s judging me, she thought. He’s examining me to see whether the wares that he has purchased are of the highest quality that he is used to! Well, it’s too late for that now. If he didn’t like the look of her, he should have mentioned it before the priest declared them man and wife.
“Thank you.” It clearly pained Melville to make such a concession to her. “Thank you for your kindness. But you are astute. I am indeed unused to such merriment and jollity. I think it is time that we retired.”
With these few abrupt words, Melville rose and pulled her right arm with a strength and force that surprised her. She stood up hastily, unable to control her balance due to the swift movement, and had to lean on him completely. He did not buckle under her weight, but supported her easily, forcing her to walk. Unnoticed by many of the dancers and cavorters in the hall who were too busy enjoying themselves to notice the silent couple, Melville half pulled, half dragged Avis towards a passageway that would lead to her – their bedroom.
Panic arose in Avis. In all of the chaos of the day, she had forgotten to think about her wedding night. She knew that the most intimate acts that could happen between a man and a woman occurred after the marriage ceremony, and she knew the basic details of what it would entail, but she had never given much thought to the act itself. Making love, in her mind, could only work between two people that were actually in love. Avis did not love this man! Could Melville, this husband of hers, demand such attentions so early on in their marriage? But I am his now, she reminded herself, desperately trying to keep up with his large stride. I am his property. He can do what he wants with me.