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Message-ID: <35469asstr$1014905405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: graciefemme@netscape.net
Subject: {ASSM} New Story: The Bliss of the Virgin (FF, Rom, Hist, BBW, Religious themes, Crossbows)
Date: Thu, 28 Feb 2002 09:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "bliss.txt" begin>

This story is inspired by Oosh's deliciously clever "Pavlova"
novel, albeit set in a different era, and featuring somewhat
different themes. I dedicate this to you, Oosh, with gratitude
for your writing, and hope you find it enjoyable.  Much of the
backdrop to this story is historically accurate, though the
principal characters are my invention.  I've made King Henry I a
nicer character than he probably was.  Couldn't resist the
impulse to make him talk like Col. Blimp, what what, don't you
know, old boy? 


* * * * *

Freighbury Castle, Norfolkshire, 1127

    "Listen to that wind howling out there, my Lady," muttered
Aedgyth the cook.  "But the thaw won't be more'n a few weeks
away, howsomever hard the winds blow right now.  The cattle are
already impatient for breeding." 

    Aedgyth and Lady Emma sat companionably in the kitchen house.
 They were almost finished with the last batch of honeyed wafers
for the morrow's feast of St. Peter, the wizened old cook
brushing the thick batter onto the iron baking racks, while the
stout, middle-aged Duchess loaded them into the oven.  Aedgyth
didn't really need her supervision, Emma knew, but the aroma of
the baking wafers was pleasing, and the warmth radiating from the
ovens offered respite from the dank February chill of the castle
keep, and from the monotony of spinning and weaving.  And
besides, Aedgyth was helping her practice the villein's language,
English.

    "Pardon, Aedgyth, what is 'breeding'?"

    "The same as 'fucking', my Lady.  I know you know that word:
I've heard you use it yourself."

    Lady Emma blanched.  "Holy Virgin!  That impudent knave of a
priest, Father Cuthbert, said that my daughter Isabelle was a
lady of 'good breeding'.  And I took it as a compliment."

    Aedgyth cackled.  "And so it was meant, my Lady." 
Suppressing her laughter, she explained.  "'Good breeding' means
'nobility,' or 'noble birth.'"  

    "You English must be lewd indeed," the Duchess shook her head
in mock indignation.  "The same word for 'fucking' and
'nobility'," she chuckled with amusement.  
 
    They returned to their task.  She could not neglect St.
Peter's feast at Freighbury Castle. It had been the nameday of
her late husband, Peter de Bracy, Duke of Norfolk, dead these
five months past.  He had been a ruthless, violent, grasping man;
she did not mourn his loss.  Nevertheless, her knights would be
expecting the customary feast.  And now that she had survived
him, she could afford to be gracious to his memory.  After all,
her son Hugh was now Duke of Norfolk, her three daughters had
married well.  And she herself was left, at the age of two-score
and six, holding Freighbury Castle and the surrounding lands as
her dower right.  Nor would King Henry force her to remarry,
selling her off to one of his barons, eager for her lands: her
younger brother was Bishop of Lincoln, and he had sufficient
influence to block any marriage that Emma objected to.

    They were startled by the sound of shouting from the bailey.
Emma emerged from the kitchen house, wrapping her ample figure in
her fur mantle against the biting wind, to see the sergeant of
her men-at-arms, one Barnabus, yelling at a stranger, a raggedly
dressed youth who was staggering, queerly, through the postern
gate, pushing past the outraged Barnabus. 

    "I said to be off, you drunken lout.  Before I cleave your
skull with this axe."

    "Barnabus, that will be enough!" the Duchess commanded.

The youth wheeled round towards her. His features were fine,
almost delicate.  He would have been quite handsome, despite his
dishevelled state, but there was a disoriented, frightened look
on the lad's pale face.  This is not drunkenness, she thought. 
He lurched forward.

    "My Lady, I pray you, help me.  I ... I've been wounded.  By
brigands."  He spoke good Norman French, though his voice was
high and weak. Then he collapsed in the snow at Lady Emma's feet.
 The sergeant turned white.

    "My Lady, I ... well, he appeared to be a common vagabond."

    "Even common vagabonds are entitled to alms at Freighbury,"
she snapped, "now that I am Lady of this castle.  But this is no
vagabond, nor drunkard.  See, he's badly wounded in the thigh;
and now he's fainted.  Help me get him into the great hall." 
Taking him by his shoulders, the two carried him into the hall.
He was surprisingly light.  They laid him down on the rushes
before the roaring hearth. 

    The youth's skin felt feverish.  "Sergeant, hasten and fetch
Alfwith from the village. Leofwyn, boil me a kettle of water and
bring me some clean strips of linen, quickly girl!"

     Taking a knife, Lady Emma gently cut the mud-caked chausses
away from the youth's thigh. The wound was deep and festering. 
Tenderly, she began cleaning the wound.  Even unconscious, he
flinched at the slightest touch.  Then she noticed the broken
stump of an arrow shaft protruding from the lad's shoulder.  She
cut a slit in the tunic and drew the cloth back from his
shoulder, when she saw ... a woman's breasts?

    "Mother of God, it's a maid!"

* * * * *

     They moved her to Lady Emma's own bedchamber.  Alfwith, the
wise-woman, drew the arrowhead from the maid's shoulder while the
Duchess and her women held the delirious girl down.  The maid
lapsed back into a coma as the wise-woman staunched the bleeding,
and set poultices of comfrey and aloe to the wounds in her thigh
and shoulder.  She said prayers to the Virgin and the old gods,
and tied an amulet to the maid's wrist.  Lady Emma rewarded her
handsomely for her services, with a young sow and a crock of
honey.  

    The maid slept fitfully. At times she kicked the covers from
her naked body, sweating with fever; and Lady Emma sponged her
with cool damp cloths.  At other times, she shivered with chills;
Lady Emma covered her again, with wool blankets and her own fur
mantle.   At last, around dawn the next day, the fever broke, and
she slept peacefully.  

    Her son Hugh arrived from Norwich, to preside over the feast
of his father's nameday.  But Lady Emma absented herself from the
hall, watching instead over her mysterious patient, sometimes
dozing beside her.  Even with her hair cropped short like a
boy's, the maid was beautiful, in a queer, elfin sort of way,
that tugged at Emma's heart.  

* * * * *

Towards evening, the maid awoke.  The fear and tension suddenly
returned to her eyes.  It grieved Lady Emma beyond measure to see
terror on the face of such a lovely young woman.  It was not, the
Duchess guessed, a mere skirmish with brigands that had given the
maid these wounds, this fear.

    "Easy, my dear.  You are safe here.  No one will harm you." 

    "Where am I?"

    "At Freighbury Castle.  I am Emma de Montvert, Dowager
Duchess of Norfolk.  And upon my honour, I pledge all the forces
at my disposal to your protection.  Now, drink this decoction of
willowbark: it will ease your pain."  The maid looked at the
beaker warily.  "Very well, I will swallow some myself," the
Duchess sighed.  "Ugh, it's bitter, but see, no poison.  The
wise-woman told me you are to drink as much of this decoction as
I can get into you."

The maid took the beaker, and with some effort, swallowed it in a
few quick draughts.  "I am sorry for my mistrust, my Lady.  You
have been exceedingly good to me, and I pray the Holy Virgin
reward you for your kindness.  But ... I was recently betrayed by
... by one whom I trusted most. "      

    "Are you hungry?"  The maid shook her head.  "Nevertheless,
you should try to take a little food.  Try a honey wafer."  

    The maid took a nibble.  "It is very good," she smiled.  That
glimpse of a smile seemed to light the chamber like a ray of
midsummer sun.  She devoured the wafer, then took another.  "It
seems," she blushed, "that I am hungry after all.  I suppose it
is several days since I last ate."

    "Here then, try a mutton pasty; and a little wine will
strengthen your blood."

    The maid sat up, wincing at the throbbing pain in her
shoulder.  She took the food and wine that the Duchess set before
her.  Lady Emma could not help staring at the maid's bare
breasts.  The Duchess had not often seen other women naked, other
than her own daughters when they had been girls.  The sight of
this maid's body had been creating unfamiliar stirrings within
her.  Presently, she realized that the young woman was gazing
back at her, a quizzical smile on her face.  The Duchess blushed
deeply.  "I, yes ... well, I ... I have here a clean linen shift
that you may put on." 

    "Thank you, my Lady."  She pulled it on over her head, again
wincing as she moved her shoulder.  
      
    "Do you feel strong enough to tell me your story?"

    The maid nodded, and sighed.  "My name is Julian.  I am a
Benedictine novice at Thurbridge Priory in Essex."  She looked
down, somewhat guiltily.  "I ... I will not hold you to your
promise of protection.  It was unfair of me to ask your aid, to
tell you it was brigands who had attacked me.  I do not wish to
bring danger down upon you, after you have been so good to me. 
But, my predicament concerns the King's life, and that of his
daughter, the Empress Maude.  I will perhaps be well enough to
ride by tomorrow.  If you could lend me a horse, I will try to
make it to the King's court at Westminster."

    "Little good that would do, my dear, since the King keeps
Lent this year at Oxford.  And you would not make five paces on a
horse before you fainted with pain.  Come, my dear Julian, I
appreciate your concern for my safety; but it is not your place
to tell a Duchess that she should foreswear her oath, is it?
Perhaps you could explain to me what a Benedictine novice has to
do with kings?"

    Julian blushed. "Yes, my Lady."  She took a deep breath. 
"Those who seek my life are Walter de Carcassone, the Earl of
Essex; Peter FitzHugh, the Archbishop of York; and," she
shuddered, "Dame Eleanor de Carcassone, Prioress of my own
convent."   

    Lady Emma was too intelligent not to be frightened by this. 
The two men Julian had just mentioned were among the most
powerful, and ruthless, in the kingdom.  Nevertheless, she
chuckled drily, "You have good taste in enemies, my dear.  Go
on."

    "A week after Ash Wednesday, our Prioress received certain
visitors: her brother the Earl, and the Archbishop ... and one
who gave his name to our porter as 'Anonyme de Lobis.'"

    "A curious name ..."

    "My Lady, 'anonyme' is Greek for 'nameless'."

    "Is it, indeed?  Continue."

    "Two other novices and I were called upon to pour wine and
serve meat to the Prioress and her guests.  At a certain point,
their conversation switched into Languedoc."
 
    "The language of Aquitaine?  How peculiar."

    "They trusted no one else would understand their speech. 
But, as it happens, my mother was from Toulouse: Languedoc was
our private language when I was a girl.  I understood their
speech well.  The nameless one, he said it was getting late, he
had to ride for the coast that evening; he must know then and
there, where did the others stand regarding his claim?  The
Archbishop addressed him as Stephen, saying they supported his
claim well, why did he think they were here?  The Earl added that
he would never accept Maude as his ruler, no matter what King
Henry wished.  And what were they going to do about it, asked
this Stephen.  Essex informed him that King Henry and his court
would be keeping Whitsuntide as his guest, at Bufford Castle.  It
would be easy enough to arrange for Maude to take some drink that
disagreed with her, and for the King to have a hunting accident,
such as had befallen the King's brother Rufus.  Essex would
ensure that the barons then declare Stephen King, and the Church
would back him.  

"Stephen responded that this was heartening news indeed. The
Archbishop said that Henry Beauclerc was a pagan, and
insubordinate to Holy Church. And of course, rule by Henry's
daughter, or any woman, would be anathema.  The Church wanted a
new King, who would support ecclesiastical reform, in the matter
of investitures, complete celibacy of the priesthood, and such.
The Prioress then asked what reward her brother could expect for
his services. The Earl proposed that in return for the crown of
England, he be granted Middlesex, Surrey, Sussex, Suffolk, and
Kent, as well as Essex, for him and his heirs, free of the royal
writ, like the Welsh Marches. Stephen readily agreed."

"It is Stephen of Blois you are speaking of," said Lady Emma
slowly.  "King Henry's own nephew.  But of course, 'Lobis' is an
anagram of 'Blois'.  So Stephen would let England fall back into
separate principalities, as in the days before good King Alfred.
Continue."

"I was horrified by what I was hearing.  You see, my ... well, my
particular friend at the Priory, my teacher and adviser, Dame
Margery, she had been a tutor and companion to Maude in her
youth, before she wed the Holy Roman Emperor; and Dame Margery
had often spoken to me of her, before she died.  I felt a loyalty
to the Empress Maude, but I did not know what I could do to help
her against these ..."

"Traitors."

"Yes, traitors.  I simply tried to mask my own alarm.  But it
must have shown in the trembling of my hands.

* * * * *

"The next day, the Prioress summoned me.  She commended me on my
service the night before.  Then she asked me if I had understood
any of the talk.  I said I had understood none of it.  Too late,
I realized that her last question had been in Languedoc.  

"We glared at each other.  Finally, she said, 'I'm sorry, little
one, but we cannot let you remain alive.'  My own Prioress, head
of the community of sisters to which I had pledged my life, she
who should have protected me, she who claimed to be a friend to
my Dame Margery ..." Julian fought back a sob of helpless rage. 
"She lunged at me, tried to get her hands round my throat, but I
grabbed a stick of kindling from the hearth and struck at her,
enough to stun her.  I bolted from her chamber and made for the
stable.  One of Essex's knights was running after me.  I stole a
horse and galloped out of the priory, not thinking where I was
going, for I soon heard several knights riding hard in pursuit of
me.  Fortunately, the horse I had taken was faster than theirs. 
In my terror, I continued riding till well after dark.  Stupid. I
might have lamed the horse, and then I would have been at their
mercy.  

"Oh, my poor angel ..."  Lady Emma took Julian's hand in herown.

"I rode north, I suppose.  It grew cold, and I had no mantle.  I
left the road, and eventually found an outbuilding of a
farmstead.   There were some sheep within, and a hayloft above. I
was wakened, shortly before dawn, by the 'chink-chink' of a
knight in hauberk, on horseback, drawing near to my hiding place.
 I scrambled into the loft.  He threw open the door and saw my
horse tethered to the centre-beam. 'Come out, little nun,' he
called, 'I won't harm you.' But he drew his sword.  

"He began searching the dark corners of the barn.  I noticed some
large stones in the loft, such as are used to hold down
thatching.  When his back was to me, I threw one down on him.  It
glanced off his helmet.  He chuckled, looking up at me, and began
to climb the ladder to the loft.  I flung another stone; this one
caught him full in the face, smashing his jaw and cheek.  He
lunged at me, swinging wildly with his sword.  It bit into my
thigh.  But he lost his footing, plunged from the loft, and
sprawled unconscious on the ground.  I hobbled down the ladder,
and I ... I finished him off with his sword.  

"I donned the dead knight's clothes, thinking they were better
suited to riding than my novice's habit, and bandaged my leg as
best I could. I took his dagger and crossbow, and continued on my
way.  As a Benedictine novice, my hair was already close-cropped,
and so I suppose I looked like a rather unkempt young squire, to
any whom I passed.  

"All the lands about the priory belong to the Earl of Essex, or
his vassals, so I didn't dare stop and ask for help.  I just kept
riding, thinking only of getting beyond Essex's reach.  On the
third day, another of the Earl's men-at-arms overtook me on the
road and gave me a crossbow bolt in the shoulder.  I fell from my
horse, but scrambled off into the woods on foot.  He rode into
the woods after me, not realizing that I too had a crossbow.  I
hid behind a tree.  With great difficulty, I spanned the bow with
my one good arm. I loosed the bolt right into his neck as he
plodded by me.  His horse galloped off.  I went back to the road,
but my horse was dead: he had cut its throat.  I went on by foot.
 But with a gash in my thigh, and an arrowhead in my shoulder, I
could not travel far.  I grew weak with fever, and with hunger.
As it's still winter, I could find no food nor healing herbs.  I
stumbled on a patch of thin ice; it cracked and I sank into the
bog beneath, up to my tits.  I almost did not make it out.  I
prayed to the Blessed Virgin.  I saw this castle in the distance,
and headed for it, not knowing if you would be friend or foe, but
knowing I would die unless I could find help."

"Oh, Julian ..."  Lady Emma took the maid's hand and kissed it,
her redoubtable bosom heaving with  emotion.  "I would gladly
give my very life to help you.  And to defend my King and his
daughter from this treason.  But ... tell me, why did you not
flee to your home, to your family?"

"My Lady, I have no home nor family but Thurbridge Priory.  Now I
have not even that.  My mother was concubine to a mercenary
knight who came to England with William the Bastard's army.  He
died in a raid on the Welsh border.  His heir drove my mother and
me from his lands, when I was but a babe.  My mother, trying to
keep us from starvation, found herself a place at Thurbridge
Priory, in the kitchens.  When my mother died, Dame Margery, the
priory librarian, took me under her wing, taught me to read,
taught me Latin and Greek, and music.  We grew very attached to
each other.  She prevailed upon her brother, the Earl of
Leicester, to pay an endowment to the Priory, so that I might
become a nun, despite my low birth, and so we could remain
together always.  But then she died of a fever, and I was left
alone."  

"Not alone.  God's Mother surely must be with you, for you to
come through this terrible ordeal alive.  She has brought you to
me, and I will not fail you.   Now, you must rest, my dove.  You
are still very weak."

* * * * *

It was only a matter of time, Emma knew: if one of Essex's men
could track Julian to Herns Forest a day's ride away, other men
would eventually track her to Freighbury Castle.  They could all
flee the castle, but what if Essex attacked them in the field,
before they could join with King Henry's forces?   It was safest
to remain at Freighbury.  

Lady Emma strode into the rush-lit hall.  The musicians stopped
playing.  The guests and retainers turned their eyes upon her. 
"My Lord of Norfolk," she curtsied to her son.  "I have dire
news.  Freighbury may soon be under attack from the Earl of
Essex.  We must prepare for a siege."

Her son lurched from the table, and collapsed in a drunken
stupor.  The Duchess shook her head grimly.  Mustering the few
knights and men-at-arms who were still sober, she gave orders for
the villeins to be brought into the castle, the drawbridge
raised, and a double watch set on the castle walls.  

 At dawn the next day, she sent young Simon White, her best
rider, on her fastest horse, with a message to the King and the
Empress Maude at Oxford, warning of the treason.  She prayed he
could avoid interception by Essex's men.  Hugh, nursing a
hangover, reluctantly sent word to his seneschal at Norwich, to
muster his knights and bring them to Freighbury.    

"But why can we not simply hand the girl over to Essex, if he
wants her so badly?" he argued.  "Why risk our lives for a
low-born nun?  We can't match the kind of army Essex can raise,
particularly with the Archbishop's money backing him."

Lady Emma fumed.  "God's death, I did not raise you to be the
sort of knight who would betray the King and deliver an innocent
maid to a murderer!  Besides, *think* boy: Essex knows that, by
now, we know of his plot against Henry and Maude.  He would not
trust us with that knowledge.  He would put us to death too.  But
even if he allowed you to join forces with him, how long do you
think you could hold onto your honours of Norfolk, with a strong,
independent Principality of Essex on your southern border, and
Stephen of Blois on the throne?  And by the way, that 'low-born
nun' has shown more honour, fortitude, and prowess in combat than
you or any other knight since the days of Charlemagne."

The Duchess in her wrath was a daunting force.  "Yes.  You are
right, of course, mother."  The Duke of Norfolk withdrew from the
solar with his tail between his legs, thankful that no one
besides his dull-witted wife Adele had witnessed the exchange. 
He went down to the bailey and sent out several scouting parties,
to report on movements of Essex's army.    

* * * * *

    To most of the inhabitants of Freighbury, the next few weeks
were like the calm before the storm.  The weather grew warmer,
turning the fields to mud.  The villeins sowed their wheat and
barley under guard of the Duchess' knights, sleeping within the
protection of the castle walls.  The scouts found no army
encroaching upon Norfolk, though they caught and slew one of
Essex's men who had been following Julian's trail just south of
Herns Forest.  And Julian grew stronger daily.  Soon she was on
her feet again, though she limped for a few days; and she spun
and wove alongside Lady Emma, and played upon the harp, to regain
strength in her arm and shoulder.  "The young heal quickly,"
Alfwith cheerfully observed, when she checked in on her patient.


But Lady Emma's heart was far from calm.  Julian, the wounded,
frightened waif who had so appealed to the Duchess' protective
impulses, was no more.  In her place, Lady Emma found Julian, a
robust young beauty, with spirit and intelligence, who awakened
much more unsettling impulses within Lady Emma.   

Emma had never met a woman like Julian before.  She moved with a
kind of easy freedom, despite her limp; she spoke her thoughts
with candour and confidence.  She behaved with courtesy, always;
she broke no social rules, or if she did, she mended her
behaviour when it was pointed out to her.  But her attitude was
that of one playing at a parlour game, unaware of the power
relations, the menace and fear that underlay these conventions. 
She did not, for example, refrain from making clever comments in
the presence of the knights.  The rules of courtesy did not
prohibit such behaviour.  But any other young woman, in Emma's
experience, would have known instinctively not to do so: it
marked her as odd, as too forward, or so the knights would think.
 Perhaps, the Duchess conjectured, this is how all nuns behaved.
She had never known a nun well before.   If so, she envied Julian
her years at the priory, in the community of women, free from the
fear and violence of secular life.  But of course, in Julian's
case, the violence of the secular world had reached into her
cloistered life and smashed it to pieces.

The other unsettling thing was that she constantly felt Julian's
eyes upon her.  She would look up from her loom and see Julian
gazing at her, unabashedly, with a devil-may-care smile on her
face.  

"What are you smiling at?"   

"I just enjoy watching you."  The two women would grin at each
other for a minute, burst into giggles, and then return to their
weaving.  

In the Duchess' youth, men had, from time to time, looked at her
something like that.  But those looks had made her uncomfortable.
Julian's gaze, on the other hand, felt like a caress upon her
skin, made her glow with pleasure.  In time, Emma's nipples would
harden.  That unexplored place between her thighs would salivate
with an unnameable hunger, till she could feel wetness trickling
down her legs, and smell her own arousal.  Could Julian smell it?
 How had she ever lived without Julian?  How could she keep
living with her, with these strange feelings?

* * * * *

Early one morning, Julian brought a beaker of hot mulled cider up
to Lady Emma's chamber.  Emma was already up, sponge-bathing
herself, naked, before a basin of water, and did not at first
notice Julian entering.  She soon became aware of Julian's eyes
upon her.  She looked up.  Julian's face was flushed, she was
breathing rapidly; and the look of frank lust on Julian's face
made her knees go week.

"You're so beautiful, my Lady."

Emma felt very confused.  "I ... I'm no such thing. I'm a fat old
woman," she muttered gruffly, and quickly pulled on her shift. 
When she looked up again, Julian was gone.  

A deep sadness engulfed her.  She collapsed upon her bed and wept
for a while.  Beautiful?  The idea was absurd: the poets, the
troubadours, all described beautiful women as slender, young,
high-bosomed, flaxen-haired, with blue-grey eyes and broad
foreheads.  Lady Emma was nothing like this, never had been, even
before childbearing had caused her figure to fill out.  Her
breasts were heavy and low-slung, her waist was thick, her hips
broad, her face round, her hair grey.  Her husband had begotten
children upon her, but their marital relations -- "breeding"
Aedgyth called it -- had been naught but a grim duty, for both of
them.  He had never loved her, never found her beautiful.  It had
been one of his nasty quips that it was only the enormous size of
her dowry that made up for the enormous size of her arse.  

How then could Julian have said she was beautiful?  Emma could
not imagine Julian intending this as a sarcastic taunt.  The
young novice was so different from other people in so many other
ways, perhaps she had her own eccentric sense of beauty as well.
This thought gave Emma a rush of joy. Certainly Lady Emma found
Julian beautiful - painfully beautiful at times - though Julian
did not exactly fit the poets' ideal of female beauty.  In fact,
the sight of Julian's close-cropped, dark hair, when she removed
her wimple, filled Emma with an unbearable longing to run her
fingers through it. Come to think of it, in the courtly songs of
the poets, there was a certain ideal of male beauty as well, but
Lady Emma had never particularly admired knights with such
features.  Well, if her own sense of beauty did not match
convention, why might not Julian's?  

Fuck the poets, the Duchess thought.

She gazed down at her own body.  She removed her shift, to have a
better look at her large, pale breasts.  She remembered the
pleasure they had given her when she had nursed her babies.  She
stroked them, cupped them.  They felt good in her hands.  Her
nipples felt very good. The place between her thighs begged for
attention.  She cupped her hand over the shaggy mound, rubbing it
gently.  Her fingers, of their own volition, crawled down into
the slippery cleft, touching a previously unknown, hard, hot
little bump of flesh, which gave her a jolt of pleasure.  She
continued touching herself.  The pleasure escalated.  Emma was
frightened by what her body was doing, but she could not stop her
fingers.  Then, unbidden, an image arose in her mind: Julian
touching her there, *right there* -- an idea so deliciously lewd
and unladylike ... She clamped down hard on her fingers, biting
her blankets to keep from crying out, as a wave of bliss lifted
her out of her body.  Was she dying?  She didn't care. 
Gradually, the feeling subsided.  Her legs were still trembling.
When she opened her eyes again, she half-expected to find herself
before the throne of God.  But she was still in her chamber, at
Freighbury Castle.  At last, she sat up and dressed herself.  

She had no name for this experience.  A priest might have called
it possession by the Devil.  But she had long ago surmised that
"the Devil" meant anything the priests didn't understand.  She
was sure the priests would have no interest in understanding that
bliss that she had just felt.  It had been a holy feeling,
though; she was sure of it.  Some women spoke of feelings of
intense pleasure in their ... "cunt," the English called it, when
their men fucked them.  Was that akin to what she had felt?   If
so, that feeling had come from her body itself, not from the
Devil.  Nor did she need a man to achieve it.  Could Julian
possibly know of this pleasure?  Julian had once spoken, vaguely,
of sharing with Dame Margery "the love and bliss of the Virgin."
Was this what she had meant?  What if she were wrong; what if
Julian was repulsed by Emma's discovery?  Then she remembered how
she herself, not an hour before, had gruffly turned away from
Julian's expression of desire.  Oh, Mother of God, she thought,
what have I done? 

* * * * *

Lady Emma found her in the stable. Julian was saddling up a roan
stallion.  

"Julian, my love ..."

Julian's eyes had a hard, hurt look that she had not seen before.
 "My Lady, it's been two weeks since you sent Simon to Oxford. 
We should have heard some response by now if he had gotten
through to the Empress or King Henry.   I'm able to ride now.  I
must try to get through myself.  I'll return your horse if I can
make it there and back."

"NO!"

Julian climbed into the saddle.  "I've stayed too long already."

"Damn you, you'll be killed!  You're breaking my heart."

"My Lady, you're not the only one whose heart can be broken." 
Julian wheeled her horse round and galloped out of the stable,
and out through the castle gate before the Duchess could order it
shut.  She collapsed onto her knees in the bailey, sobbing,
wailing Julian's name, not caring what her servants, her
soldiers, or the villeins thought.

* * * * *

    Lady Emma hardly emerged from her chamber for the next week,
leaving the defence of the castle in her son's hands.  At last he
brought her word that Essex's army was encamped before
Freighbury.  The siege had begun.  

    It took every bit of moral fibre Lady Emma could summon to
rouse herself from the despair she felt at the loss of Julian. 
But her people's lives were at stake; she could not let
Freighbury fall.  Essex's herald approached the castle wall and
demanded the surrender of "a certain reprobate nun who unlawfully
ran away from Thurbridge Priory, and subsequently murdered two
knights."  The Duchess took heart: Julian had not yet fallen into
their hands.     

    Hugh, to his credit, answered the herald astutely, telling
him the siege was useless: the King had already been warned of
their treasonous plot.  

    "Warned, indeed?" replied the herald.  "I think that message
somehow never got through."   He pulled something out of his
saddlebag.   Lady Emma felt sick.  It was Simon White's head.  
    
    Hugh laughed, "Do you think we only sent one messenger? 
There were ten, all travelling by different roads.  Nine of them
have returned, with news that Henry is mustering an army against
you.  The Archbishop of York is in Henry's hands already.  You
took too long tracking the nun here, and now it's too late: your
heads are in the noose."  The herald blanched.  He was obviously
badly shaken.  Lady Emma, for the first time in years, felt a
surge of pride in her son: Hugh had the makings of a clever Baron
after all. 

"Then why aren't the King's army here already?" the herald at
last replied, before galloping back to his own lines.    

The next morning, Essex's soldiers approached the walls with
scaling ladders, testing the castle's defenses, but her own
men-at-arms easily repulsed them with a volley of crossbow bolts
and stones.  Then the Earl brought forward his two siege engines,
which lobbed burning bundles of pitch-coated straw against the
castle walls.  This might have been devastating against the old
wooden castles built in King Knut's or King Edward's day.  But
Freighbury was a modern stone castle, and the burning pitch had
no effect, beyond making the air stink.  On the fifth day, a
party of Essex's men approached the gate with a battering ram,
but they were cut down, every one of them, by the Duchess'
crossbowmen, before they got within ten yards of the gate.      

Essex's army then ringed the castle, digging in for the long
process of starving them out.  The Duchess had enough men to hold
the castle, but not enough to lift the siege.  It was by now
obvious that the Duke of Norfolk had been bluffing about the nine
other messengers and the Archbishop.  It would take but a month
and half: by then, either the defenders would starve, or Henry
and Maude would have fallen into Essex's hands, and Stephen would
be on the throne, making Freighbury's further resistance futile.
Indeed, the Earl would have been heartened had he known how
little food Freighbury had been able to store up before the
siege.  The defenders were down to one meal a day.  

* * * * *

    On the morning of the fifteenth day of the siege, Hugh came
to his mother with news that another army could be seen.  She ran
to the battlements.  The army were now fording the Freigh, and
pouring onto the field behind Essex's camp.  But whose forces
were they?  Her heart in her mouth, she caught sight at last of
the King's standard: three lions rampant.  A cheer went up from
the castle.  

    Her son turned to her.  "We've got them.  I'd best take out
my knights and foot soldiers." The Duchess nodded.

    Between the King's army, Hugh's knights dashing out over the
drawbridge, and the crossbowmen on the battlements, the Earl of
Essex's forces were cut to pieces in a matter of minutes.  Lady
Emma saw the Earl himself, separated from his guard by Hugh's
knights, make a desperate gallop for freedom, but he rode too
close to the castle wall: he was picked off by a crossbowman. 
The sight should have given her satisfaction, but all she could
feel was revulsion at the scene of carnage before her, the
severed limbs, the frightened boys screaming as their lifeblood
ebbed out of them into the mud.  All because of some Barons'
infantile desire for even more worldly power and wealth.  

At least, thank God, it was over.  

* * * * *

    A rider bearing the Empress Maude's standard emerged from the
King's wagon train and galloped toward the castle gate.  Lady
Emma gasped with joy. The portcullis was raised, and the rider
rode inside.  Lady Emma raced down to the bailey.  Julian
dismounted, and the Duchess threw her arms round her. A second
later, Julian was mobbed by the Duchess' soldiers, servants, and
villeins, hugging her, slapping her on the back, laughing,
cheering, lifting her up on their shoulders and parading her
about the bailey.  She had, after all, risked her life to save
theirs; and even the most curmudgeonly of the knights gave her
their grateful cheers, even Sergeant Barnabus.

    It was a bit of an anti-climax when, a few minutes later,
Hugh and his knights rode in, with King Henry and his daughter
Maude.  

    "My Lord of Norfolk, my Lady Emma, we believe we're somewhat
in your debt, what? Flushing out that rascal Walter de Carcassone
-- good show.  I've got the Archbishop of York, and that Prioress
in irons at Oxford; the Church wouldn't approve if I hanged a
cleric y'know.  A pity that snake of a nephew of mine got away to
France."  The King looked about him.  "A good, stout castle
you've got here.  Damned glad it's in your hands, my Lady.  I
say, Hugh, Essex is vacant: suppose we create you Earl of Essex,
as well as Duke of Norfolk.  I believe that makes you the richest
Baron in England."  

    Hugh was stunned. "Your Grace is most generous."  He turned
to Julian. "But your debt is to this nun here." He draped his
arm, most unaristocratically, round her neck.

    "We're well aware of our debt to her, Hugh.  Our daughter
reminds us of it every five minutes."  Lady Emma turned her gaze
to the Empress Maude - a pale, striking young beauty, much closer
in age to Julian.  A sudden fear possessed the Duchess: surely
the Empress now claimed Julian's heart.  Emma had no one to blame
but herself.  Julian had come to her, made clear offer of her
affection, and Emma had rebuffed her.  And, now ... how could she
ever win her back from the woman who would be Queen of England?

"I'm most grateful to you, my Lady of Norfolk," nodded the
Empress, "for your aid to Dame Julian.  She has well acquainted
his Grace the King and me of your part in putting down this
treason."    

    Lady Emma curtsied. "You are most welcome to Freighbury, your
Grace and my Lady Empress."  She had to fight to get the words
out of her throat.

    As they entered the hall, the Empress took Lady Emma aside.
"You'd best keep an eye on that girl in the future: see that she
stays out of trouble.  She's headstrong, half-mad at times, but
positively the bravest human being I've ever met.  My father and
I owe her our lives.  She made a bit of a nuisance of herself at
Oxford, though.  She was frantic to ride back here, to see that
you were safe.  She's extraordinarily devoted to you.  Couldn't
wait for us to muster an army.  Tried to ride off alone.  Essex
would have killed her, of course.  The only way we could stop her
was to lock her up.  An awfully shabby way to treat her after she
saved our lives, but we had no choice.  I'm afraid she rather
hates me now."

    "My Lady Empress, may I claim a boon?"

    "Today, you might claim half the kingdom.  What would you
have?"

    "Let me speak with her now, privately, for just a few
minutes, and hold me excused from this breach of hospitality."

    Maude arched an eyebrow, and smiled.  "So the devotion is
mutual, hm?  That's good.  Of course you may speak to her.  Oh,
and I'd appreciate it if you'd put in a good word for me with
her.  She'll listen to you."

* * * * *

    "When you rode off like that, I was so sick with fear for
you, so sure I'd never see you again, I honestly wanted to die."

    "Oh, my Lady, I'm sorry I caused you pain.  I regretted my
last words to you as soon as I spoke them.  And once I reached
Oxford, I was out of my mind with fear, afraid the castle would
fall and you'd be slain, and King Henry took so long to move his
army."  
        
    "I know, the Empress told me.  She craves your pardon for
having to lock you up, by the way.  Well, you saved our lives,
you bull-headed idiot."  There were tears in Emma's eyes.  "And
we're both alive today, and I'm just so joyful to be looking on
your lovely face again, my darling ...  As they say, 'All's well
that end's well.'  I've been regretting something terribly,
though. When you came to me in my chamber, that morning before
you left, when I was bathing ..."

    "It was outrageously forward of me. I'm sorry."

    "No, it wasn't.  It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever said
to me.  I regret how I responded to you.  I should have done this
..."    

Lady Emma took Julian in her arms and kissed her on the mouth. 
 
"I love you Julian.  I want to hold you and caress your beautiful
body, I want to kiss your eyelids and gaze at you and run my
fingers through your hair and --"

Julian stopped her mouth with another kiss.  Her lips opened to
Julian's tongue. She'd had no idea kissing could be like this.  
She grew dizzy, her knees buckled; she might well have keeled
over, but Julian held her in her strong arms.  

"Emma, I've wanted you so badly.  Ever since that first day,
after my fever broke. By Our Lady, you smell delicious, you feel
delicious!  I love you so much."  They kissed again, and Julian's
hands began fondling Lady Emma's heavy breasts through her
kirtle.     

"Oh, yes, love, oh that feels so good ... Oh ... but, we must
stop ... we can't continue this now."

"Why not?"  

"The King and the Empress await us below.  We must go down to the
feast now.  And truth be told, I'm ravenous.  We haven't eaten
well here since the siege began."

"Of course, love.  I had forgotten."

"I'll sit with you at the feast.  Come to my bedchamber tonight,
as soon as you can."    

* * * * *

The feast was a relatively frugal affair, simpler than most. 
Enough good, plain food for everyone, but no elaborate subtleties
such as usually graced the King's table.  It was briefer than
most, as well; for the King and his council had a number of
pressing matters to attend to afterward.  To the Duchess,
however, it seemed interminable.  It was made more unbearable for
Emma by the fact that Julian kept fondling her knees and thighs
under cover of the table linen.  By the end of the feast, she was
sure everyone in the hall could smell the juice dripping down her
thighs, wetting the shift and kirtle under her arse.  

* * * * *

When Julian slipped into Lady Emma's chamber, she saw, in the
soft, flickering rush-light, the Duchess standing naked and wet,
before her washbasin, just as she had that morning a month
earlier.

"You're so beautiful, my Lady. "

"I wanted to do it right this time.  Come to me, love."  

Julian doffed her shift.  She undid Emma's long, thick braid of
silvery hair.  Then she dipped the sponge in the warm, soapy
water, and ran it over Emma's shoulders, down her back, while she
kissed her neck. Emma shivered and sighed.  Julian washed her
broad, full backside, and the backs of her legs.  Julian's
impudent, soapy fingers even explored the deep cleft of her arse.
 I love this, Lady Emma thought. Holy Virgin, how I've needed
this.  She's baptizing me, washing me free of shame.  

Julian's arms went round her now, cupping her soft, heavy
breasts, kneading them.  She rubbed them with the sponge.  Emma's
nipples ached with desire.  She could feel Julian's breasts
pressing against her back, could feel Julian's warm, excited
breathing on her neck.  Julian turned her round.  Her head dipped
down, and suddenly Emma felt Julian's mouth on her breast. 
Mother of God!  Such sweet torture.  Emma cooed Julian's name,
cradling her head against her bosom, running her fingers through
the soft, short hair, kissing her head.  She felt the wet sponge
washing her soft belly, washing between her thighs.  Oh Jesu, Oh
Queen of Heaven, she's touching me *there*!

"Love, I'm about to fall over.  My legs will give out." 

"Let's go to bed."

"Oh."  Why hadn't that occurred to her?

Emma lit a taper and set it in the sconce in her headboard.  As
she and Julian climbed into the feather-tick bed, she drew the
bed curtains about them, safe, for the moment, in their own
private world.  Emma poured a cup of wine, and they shared a few
sips.  

"I don't know what to call what we're doing," Emma confessed.  "I
don't know what comes next.  But whatever it is, darling, I want
it."

"We're making love, sweet.  You're going to feel great pleasure
in a few minutes."

"I was feeling great pleasure already, as you were washing me. 
Is there a feeling of bliss, as the pleasure reaches a certain
... climax?  And then a floating, soaring feeling, that leaves
you radiant afterwards?"

"Yes.  You've felt it before, then.  With your husband?"

"With my own fingers, thinking about you.  Is this what you meant
by the love and bliss of the Virgin, that you shared with Dame
Margery at Thurbridge?"

"Yes.  Though it's not the Virgin Mary of Holy Writ that I was
speaking of.  This is a rite far older than Christianity.  I mean
the love of the old Virgin Goddess, the Moon-Maiden."

"You speak like Alfwith, our village wise-woman."

"I *am* a wise-woman. Many nuns are.  Dame Margery taught me.  Do
I shock you, my Lady?"

"You delight me, you mysterious pagan.  I want you to teach me,
everything."

"Show me how you touch yourself with your fingers ... Do you
think *my* fingers might have a go at it?"

"Oh, please ... yes, right there ... don't stop ... ahhhhhh!"
  
"And then my tongue."

"Your tongue?  What - ooh, Oh Mother of God!  Oh, yes, yes,
yyyyessss ..."
  
* * * * *

The King's council met in the chapel.  Hubert Beaulac, the Bishop
of Durham, joined the council meeting late. Roger de Salisbury,
the King's Justiciar, was suggesting that the King call a
Parliament of the Barons, and have them all swear fealty to his
daughter.  Then they would be legally bound to accept her as
Queen of England upon Henry's death, and the succession problem
would be solved.  If any refused to swear fealty to a woman,
Henry would then know where the opposition lay. 

"Your Grace, my Lords," interjected the Bishop, "you'll never
guess what I saw on my way here few moments ago.  That mad
Benedictine novice -- I saw her walking down the corridor in her
shift, and she went into the Duchess of Norfolk's bedchamber."

"In her shift, eh what?" said King Henry.  "And what would you
have her sleep in, Hubert, a hauberk and helmet?" 

"But why should she be going to the Duchess' bedchamber at this
time of night?  If it were a young man's bedchamber, we would
know clearly what was afoot.  But what can it mean when a lady
sneaks into the bedchamber of another lady?  And I heard noises
within.  Noises such as a woman makes when ... Well, had I not
known it was two ladies within, I would have sworn on the True
Cross that there was ... well, something very queer going on
inside."

"What is your point, my Lord Bishop?"  asked the Justiciar.  "Are
you concerned that the Duchess will get the nun with child?" 
There were several snickers.

"Have a care, my Lord Justiciar," Beaulac spat back, "how you
speak to a prince of the Church."

"My Lords," said the King, growing exasperated.  "What women may
do amongst themselves is no concern of ours.  It grows late.  We
have important matters to decide tonight.  Let us get on with
this business of calling the Parliament." Henry was glad that
Hugh had been unable to attend the council meeting; with this
fool of a Bishop making innuendos about his mother, a brawl might
have ensued.

* * * * *

    The following morning, the soldiers, and the villeins of
Freighbury, settled down to the grim task of burying the dead of
Essex's army.  The Empress Maude made provision that Freighbury
be supplied with grain from nearby royal holdings, to compensate
for the loss of crops, as the besiegers had done much damage to
the village's fields.   

    After the mid-day meal, the King and his daughter held court
in the solar.  The Duchess and Julian were summoned.  If the two
women seemed unusually gay, full of smiles, whispers, and quiet
laughter, no one remarked upon it.  Everyone was in a cheerful
mood, following the victory of the previous day.

    "Dame Julian, we must depart on the morrow for Winchester,"
said the King.  "But ere we leave, we would settle our debt to
you.   You've not yet taken final vows as a nun.  The Duke of
Somerset seeks a wife.  He's handsome, young, and much in our
favour.  He agrees to the match.  What say you to becoming
Duchess of Somerset, with a generous dowry from our own coffers."
 

    Julian's face fell.  "Your Grace does me great honour.  But,
I do not aspire to marry."

"Eh?  You wish to return to the cloister then?  We'd not have
thought you were a candidate for sainthood.  You could breed a
fine crop of new knights for England, what?"

    "No, your Grace, but I would remain with ..."

    Lady Emma interrupted, "I too wish to retire from the world,
your Grace, and take the veil.  These intrigues and treasons have
left me weary of worldly life.  I would spend my latter days in
contemplation and pursuit of the holy love and bliss of the
Virgin."  She beamed a knowing smile at Julian.

    "You too, my Lady Emma?  Is the whole world turning saintly?
I'd be grieved to lose your watchful management of Freighbury
Castle."

"Father," the Empress spoke up, "may I suggest a more fitting
reward for both these spiritually-minded women?  As I recall, the
Abbess' chair at Wenneston Abbey, in Lincolnshire, is vacant. 
The Papal Legate could be persuaded to appoint Dame Julian.  The
young Duke of Norfolk - and Essex, now - has shown himself to be
a capable Baron: Freighbury will be secure under his rule.  So
let my Lady Emma retire to Wenneston Abbey as well.  For I've
observed that these two women are very devoted to one another,
and it would grieve them to be separated.  Lady Emma, having
ruled a castle, could advise and assist Dame Julian with the more
mundane aspects of ruling an Abbey.  The Bishop of Lincoln, who
has the oversight of the Abbey, is of course, Lady Emma's own
brother.  And we could have no more loyal, courageous, and honest
a Lady in the Abbess' chair than Dame Julian.  

"Wenneston Abbey, eh?  Hm, not a particularly rich benefice, is
it?"

"That is why you shall endow the Abbey with a generous gift of
land, and some silver chalices, altar clothes, and such rich
things - in lieu of the dowry you offered a moment ago.  The
ladies there will welcome their new Abbess right joyfully if she
brings such gifts with her."

"Hm, yes.  We like the idea well enough.  What say you Ladies?"

"Nothing could please me more, your Grace," said Julian.

"Nor me, your Grace," said Lady Emma.

"Thank you, my Lady Empress," added Julian, with a curtsey and a
very big smile.  "I am deeply grateful."  The Empress arched an
eyebrow and smiled back.

"Roger," the King turned to his Justiciar, "see that the proper
documents are drawn up, what?"

After the women had withdrawn, the King turned to the Bishop of
Durham.

"Well, there's your answer, Hubert.  The nun went to the Duchess'
chamber last night to counsel her to take the veil.  They were
praying and having holy discourse, not doing ... well, whatever
it was you thought they might be doing."

"Yes, your Grace.  It was asinine of me to suggest any
impropriety.  I had drunk too much wine at the feast.  I pray you
forgive me."

"Very well, Hubert, we forgive you, for you knew not what you
did.  You see, even old Henry Beauclerc is turning saintly.  What
is the world coming to?"

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