Knight's Move

As Hester scrubbed at her arms with the soapy flannel, her mind grew numb, which seemed a blessing after the way it had been racing a few minutes before.

She dipped the cloth into the water and rubbed it more gently over her skin, trying to wash away all the tension and uncertainty which that man—her husband—had brought with him. She unplaited her fair hair and fluffed it out before dipping her head into the bowl. The water soothed her aching head as she massaged her scalp. Looking down, she almost smiled as she saw the contents of the bowl turning brown with mud. How often Maud had berated her for her unlady-like ability to attract dirt.

Tipping the dirty water into the slop bucket and refilling the bowl from the warm jug, Hester began to rinse herself clean. Across the room, the door clicked as it opened and shut again. So, Maud had soon recovered from her scolding and was returning to help her dress.

‘Pass me a towel, will you?’ Hester called out, as she stood dripping behind the screen, squeezing the water from her long hair.

‘Towel, please, Maud,’ she called again. Maud was being slow, perhaps still sulking from her telling-off. Hester rubbed the flannel over her face one last time in case any mud lingered. Some soap dripped into her eyes and stung so sharply that she stood there blinking and wincing, unable to see anything as her eyes watered with pain.

‘Ouch, I’ve got soap in my eyes. Where’s that towel?’ she demanded, sticking out her hand until the towel was thrust into it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, dabbing at her sore eyes. They were smarting less now as she raised her head and found herself looking not at the plump, familiar face of Maud, but into the hard, rugged features of her husband.

‘You!’ she cried. ‘I thought it was Maud.’

‘No, it’s definitely not Maud,’ he replied, his eyes lingering on her naked curves.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, trying to cover herself with the towel. ‘How dare you enter my room without my permission? How dare you pretend to be my maid? Have you no honour? You despicable…’ Hester realised there were no words to describe the outrage he had perpetrated.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman, I didn’t pretend,’ he protested heatedly. ‘You heard me come in, you asked me to pass you a towel. I fetched you one. I don’t need permission to enter my own house.’

So this was how it was to be. He intended to trample all over her, allow her no rights, no privacy…

‘You despicable rat,’ she snapped.

‘Holy blood, woman, is there no reason in you? I didn’t even know this was your chamber. I haven’t set foot in this house for ten years, remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ Hester shot back.

‘If you must know, this was my mother’s room,’ he continued reluctantly, clearly not at ease giving his explanation. ‘I have happy memories of it. I wanted to see it again. When I entered I thought it was empty. Then you asked for a towel. I supplied it. I did not follow you here to prey upon you and claim conjugal duties, as you obviously expect,’ he said forthrightly, but Hester could see his eyes travelling over her body again and felt herself blushing red-hot under his gaze.

She tried to pull the towel further around her, but was painfully aware of its inadequacy. ‘Prove you’re telling me the truth by not looking at me in that way,’ she ordered.

He laughed, a deep, rich chuckle. ‘My wife seems to require many proofs from me,’ he rejoined, ‘but I will avert my eyes if you wish. Ah,’ he said as the door clicked open once more, ‘perhaps this is Maud now.’

‘Oh!’ squealed the maid, seeing them together. ‘Oh, forgive me,’ she said and turned in a fluster to leave.

‘Maud, come back immediately,’ Hester cried.

‘Oh, are you sure? I’m sorry, my lord, I… My, my, what a joy to see you two getting on so well. Who’d have thought it after ten years apart?’

Hester’s blush of embarrassment merged with one of rage as Guy grinned in the most infuriating manner.

‘Who would have thought it, indeed?’ he echoed, raising his eyebrows and aiming a sardonic look at Hester.

‘And how much you’ve changed, my lord,’ Maud continued, oblivious to her lady’s discomfort.

‘So has the lady Hester,’ he remarked, looking her up and down. She tugged again at the towel, and took a step backwards, trying to retreat into the shadows. ‘I must say, Lady Hester,’ he continued, ‘you have certainly grown beyond all recognition. I had not expected that such a skinny little girl could have grown so well.’

The cheek of the man! Hester felt as if her blushes would never fade as he grinned at her, his eyes lingering on the curve of her hips and breasts, which, she was only too aware, the towel did little to hide. And it was all made worse by his obvious enjoyment of her embarrassment. How could she live in the same house as this objectionable, uncouth lout?

‘Well, much as I would like to stay and assist with lady Hester’s toilette, I must go and wash myself. I look forward to seeing more of you at dinner,’ he grinned, throwing a last insolent look in her direction, as he turned on his heels and left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘Not a word, Maud,’ Hester ordered grimly as the old woman turned to her, her mouth open and drawing breath, ready for much chatter.

Hester dressed hurriedly, pulling on a woollen dress of deep green which had been washed and darned since she had last seen it. Maud’s skill had made it look fairly respectable once more, far more so than when she had last discarded it, when the hem had been stiff with mud and the threadbare patch on the elbows had finally worn through. Glancing down at herself, she saw the way it clung to her hips, then flared out towards her ankles.

‘And now, my lady,’ Maud suggested tentatively, but with a look of cautious determination, ‘I think this would look well with the green.’ She was holding out a fine girdle, woven in gleaming, amber-coloured silk, with threads of gold running through it.

‘Where did that come from?’ Hester asked, her eyes fascinated by the way the cloth was gleaming in the firelight.

‘’Twas my lady Adela’s. I’m sure she would have liked you to wear it. She would have been fond of you.’

‘’Tis too fine, Maud,’ Hester said, turning away in search of her usual, workaday girdle.

‘You can’t wear that,’ Maud expostulated, following her eyes to where the woollen girdle lay, trailing amongst the heap of clothes on the floor. ‘’Tis covered in mud, my lady. All these things must be washed immediately to soak out the soil.’

‘What about my other one, the brown one?’

‘That one is still airing after yesterday’s wash,’ Maud replied firmly. ‘You can’t go down without a girdle. You’ll have to wear this one,’ she concluded, as she gathered up the muddy pile of clothes and headed for the door with an air of finality. The shabby old brown girdle had long since dried, but she wasn’t going to let on about that. She had also decided not to tell Hester that the silken girdle had been worn by Lady Adela on the day of her marriage to the old lord, Sir Guy’s father. She knew her wilful young mistress would have thrown it aside, and Maud was determined to have a little wedding-day finery in evidence for the return of the young lord to his bride.

Hester tentatively fastened the girdle round her hips. Its silken weight hung perfectly, the long tie falling down the centre of her skirt, transforming the faded wool of her dress into a fitting background to show off its amber and gold magnificence. She had not worn anything so fine for years. She only hoped her new-found husband would not assume this finery was in his honour. The last thing she wished to do was to flatter his vanity.

By the time she reached the hall, all the others were seated at the long trestle tables, ready to receive their meal. Sir Guy and the other five were on the dais, already tucking into the wine. As lady of the house, it was her place to serve the guests on the top table. She strode over to the door where the serving girls were appearing with the great bowls of bruet.

‘I’ll take that one for the visitors,’ she said to one of the girls.

As Hester slopped out the stew of meat and vegetables on to the huge, round chunks of bread which sat on the table in front of each of the diners, one of the knights demanded, ‘What meat is this, lady?’

‘’Tis an Abbascombe speciality, a delicacy hereabouts,’ Hester told him.

After an exploratory mouthful, he spluttered, ‘Rabbit! Beauvoisin, she’s serving us rabbit. An Abbascombe delicacy indeed! Is this how you are welcomed home?’

‘My lady was not expecting us, Sir Edward. You must make allowances,’ Guy replied, then he looked towards her and beckoned her over, indicating the empty seat beside him. She sat down silently and picked up her spoon.

‘I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t stand for it,’ Sir Edward continued. ‘You should show her who’s master, start as you mean to go on, just like training that hound of yours there,’ he said, nodding at Amir, who lay quietly beneath the table at Guy’s feet, waiting patiently to be fed titbits from his hand.

‘Do you compare my wife to my dog?’ Guy asked, amused, glancing at Hester’s furious face.

‘I do indeed. Too many of you young fellows make the mistake of showing injudicious leniency. A wife must be trained to obey her master exactly as a dog unless you wish to store up trouble for yourself later on.’

‘I suspect ten years’ absence has stored up enough trouble already, sir.’

‘All the more reason to act now. Let her feel the strength of your hand tonight.’

‘After ten years away, Sir Edward, I believe Beauvoisin will have better things to do tonight than to beat his wife,’ one of the other crusaders interjected with a leer and they all laughed, except Guy. Hester felt his eyes on her but didn’t dare raise hers to return his gaze. She felt herself flushing with a burning mélange of embarrassment, indignation and trepidation.

The villagers were having a merry time of it at the other tables, knocking back their mugs of ale and toasting the return of their lord. Hester looked at them enviously. She would have much preferred to have been sitting with them, instead of with these offensive, opinionated louts. In fact, she thought, she would have preferred to have been one of them, then at least she could have chosen not to marry. She stole a furtive look at Guy as he drained his goblet of wine. He had said he was going to wash, but it had made little difference to his appearance. He was still scruffy and illkempt and his clothes smelled of long days in the saddle. He was eating his stew, while Sir Edward continued his lecture on the advantages of wife-beating.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ the old boar was saying. ‘My lady will not dare to serve me with rabbit bruet when I reach home. Now, look at that obedient hound of yours…’ This was too much for Hester. Didn’t the offensive old fool know when to stop?

‘If men treat their wives no better than their dogs,’ she retorted loudly, ‘they will behave like dogs and bite their husbands when they have the chance.’ The table hushed and six pairs of male eyes fell upon her. She felt their hostility, but wouldn’t back down now.

Sir Edward spluttered indignantly, the juices of the stew running down his chin. ‘I’d like to see my wife dare,’ he returned sharply.

‘You’ll never see it, Sir Edward, for she will be too afraid of being struck to do it openly. She’ll creep up behind your back when you’re not looking and then she’ll bite you hard.’

Sir Edward was turning red with apoplectic rage. He began hammering on the table with his fist, his eyes popping as he exclaimed, ‘Never heard anything like it, Beauvoisin. This damned wife of yours needs some discipline…’

‘Sir Edward,’ Guy addressed him sharply, ‘You have been away from the company of ladies for a long time. You are unused to the courtesy which is their due, else I am sure you would not have damned my wife.’ Hester shuddered at that final word, but longed to hear Sir Edward’s reply.

‘No, indeed. ’Twas not my intention to offend,’ the older man said sheepishly. ‘But such words from a woman, Beauvoisin, surely you must understand…’ he ended, casting a look of appeal at Guy.

Hester felt ready to whoop with victory, until she saw that Guy was nodding as if in agreement. She opened her mouth with a rejoinder on her lips, but suddenly Guy’s hand was gripping her arm. He leaned across to her, hissing in her ear, ‘That’s enough baiting of Sir Edward, my lady. No matter how you dislike him, he is a guest at your table.’ She swung round at him. ‘And I’ll have no more tongue-lashings from you either,’ he rasped without giving her a chance to speak. ‘Else I shall be tempted to follow his advice and try to beat some respect into you.’

‘That’s it, Beauvoisin, you give her what for,’ Sir Edward was cheering.

Hester slumped back dejectedly in her seat. Her whole world had turned upside down. Here were these uncouth louts at her table, giving her orders, saying that she should be beaten. She, who had ruled here as absolute governor for the last four years since the old lord’s death. It was intolerable, it was disgusting, it was disgraceful—and yet there was nothing she could do to evict them from the domain which had been hers until this afternoon, when this devil of a husband had returned to shatter her kingdom.

‘My lady, not eating?’ asked Maud as she brought another flagon of wine to the table.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Hester replied flatly.

‘Oh, you must eat,’ Maud cajoled gently, then whispered, ‘Don’t worry, my lady, it’s natural to be nervous. After all, it’s just like a wedding night for you, but don’t be too anxious, it won’t be that bad.’

Hester pulled away from her confiding whisper. Maud meant only to be kind, but Hester couldn’t help scowling so fiercely that the old woman went scuttling away out of sight.

More courses followed. Fritha had managed well in spite of the lack of warning, determined to impress her lord even in the face of Hester’s strictures. For the top table there were whole eggs fried in batter with mint custard, shellfish in a vinegar sauce, and an elder-flower cheese tart, while humbler dishes and plentiful ale flowed freely for the villagers.

At last the dinner was over and the villagers rose to leave, many rather unsteady on their feet. In past years this had been a merry night for Hester, celebrating the end of sowing, but tonight she could hardly muster a smile in return for their wishes of ‘Good night, my lady’.

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Sir Edward, ‘at last we can have some civilised entertainment. I was beginning to think those yokels would never leave. If I were you, Beauvoisin, I wouldn’t give my hall over to them so readily. You don’t want people like that getting the wrong idea.’

Guy bowed his head politely and made no reply, but Hester could stand it no longer.

‘Sir, those people you refer to so disparagingly have worked ceaselessly on behalf of the lord of Abbascombe all these years he’s been away. Thanks are in order, not…’

‘Well,’ Sir Edward continued, addressing Guy, ignoring Hester as if she were beneath contempt, ‘you see, she’s been completely spoilt by having her own way. That’s the one fault with the wars—too many women left masterless. And this is the result. You’re going to have your work cut out with her.’

‘I do believe you’re right, Sir Edward,’ Guy replied. ‘And you advise beating how often? Daily? Or perhaps twice daily in such a bad case as this?’ Hester felt her ears burning with outrage as she heard the words. What sort of monster was this so-called husband? What sort of hell was he bringing to Abbascombe?

‘Can’t beat a woman like that too often, in my opinion.’

‘My thoughts precisely. And when should I begin?’ There was a devilish glint in his eye as he stole a look at her. Hester met his eyes fiercely, fury ablaze in her face.

‘Oh, no time like the present. Start tonight. Don’t delay.’

When her husband turned to regard her once again, there was a broad grin on his face, not a cruel grimace, but a look of amusement. Then, to her astonishment, he winked at her before turning back to Sir Edward. ‘But a game of chess first, I think,’ Guy said, rising from the table.

He went to one of the side-tables and returned with a magnificent silver board and an intricately carved wooden box. He set these down on a low wooden chest close to the fire and he and his friends settled down in a huddle. Hester had intended to leave them at the first opportunity, but these intriguing objects held her spellbound. She had never seen anything like them and her curiosity led her to the fireplace as if it pulled her on a string.

The board was a silver square, richly decorated with swirling patterns inside the criss-crossing squares. From the box, Guy took many beautiful little figures, fashioned delicately in ebony and ivory, and placed them in rows on the squares of the board. Hester stood watching, entranced by their loveliness. She had never seen anything so perfectly crafted. She even forgot to sulk as they began to play, bewitched by the gorgeous little figures, the weird creatures and strangely attired people they represented.

‘Is it from the East?’ she asked at last, unable to contain her curiosity.

Guy moved one of the smallest pieces forward to the next square. ‘It is,’ he replied, meeting her eyes and seeming to welcome her interest. ‘It is very popular amongst the Saracens.’

‘How strange that you should want to bring back their things when you went there to kill them,’ Hester found herself remarking.

‘Damned barbarians deserved to keep their chess no more than they deserved to keep the Holy Land,’ scoffed Sir Edward.

Guy glanced at him with a barely hidden expression of scorn. Hester realised in an instant that he shared none of Sir Edward’s views. But, instead of disagreeing openly, he merely replied, ‘It is a clever, strategic game, good for exercising the brain.’

‘And so beautiful. I have never seen such fine carvings.’ Hester could not restrain her exuberance. Her husband looked up at her in surprise.

‘Yes, I think so too,’ he replied quietly, looking into her eyes. ‘Perhaps you would allow me to teach you to play, my lady,’ he offered.

‘You’d be wasting your time, Beauvoisin,’ Sir Edward cut in. ‘Women can’t understand chess. It’s beyond them. Too much thinking involved.’

‘Perhaps the Lady Hester could prove you wrong, Sir Edward. I believe she may have the necessary skills for chess,’ Guy replied in a level voice, his dark eyes still fixed on Hester.

‘Pah!’ spat his opponent.

‘I should like to learn,’ Hester ventured.

‘Then come, my lady,’ Guy said, patting the wood of the settle on which he was sitting. ‘Come and sit beside me and watch the game. ’Tis the best way to learn.’ Hester hesitated. She longed to watch and learn, but she also wished to keep her distance. Then he raised his eyebrows as if to repeat the invitation, and she found she could hold back no more. In a moment she had crossed the short distance between them and was sitting by his side.

As he moved the dark carvings he told her their names. ‘This is the pedo, the foot soldier…and this is the elephant, or al-fil, as that creature is called in the Saracen tongue.’

‘You speak their language?’ Hester gasped in amazement. Guy nodded.

‘What’s that, Beauvoisin?’ Sir Edward broke in. ‘Not using those damned Saracen words again? I’ve told you about that before.’

‘So you have, sir,’ Guy replied mildly, casting another surreptitious wink at Hester.

She did not know what to think. Suddenly it was as if they were allies against the ghastly Sir Edward. But Guy wasn’t her ally, he was her enemy, her thief-husband, who had stolen himself away and had now returned to steal Abbascombe away from her too. And yet, there was something about his presence which drew her.

He leaned forward to move the little horseman and, as he did so, his knee brushed against hers. She felt herself flinch. He must have felt it too, for he moved away from her slightly, allowing her a little more space on the settle. He continued to explain the game as if nothing had happened. ‘We call this piece the knight. He is the heroic warrior riding into battle, rather like your husband.’ There was a note of bitterness in his voice and his smile, as she looked up, was a sardonic one.

‘You said earlier that you were a hero,’ Hester ventured.

‘So I did,’ Guy murmured, just loud enough for her ears only. ‘But I do not always mean everything I say.’ He paused. ‘I said some other things to you earlier which I would prefer unsaid, if ’twere possible.’

Sir Edward was moving the intricately-carved chariot.

‘That piece is the rukhkh, or chariot in our own language,’ Guy explained. He paused for a moment, then his hand went straight to his knight, swooping down upon his opponent’s king. ‘And that, Sir Edward, is shah mat; meaning, my lady, that the king is without resource, nothing can save him and therefore the game is over.’

‘You’ve won!’ Hester exclaimed.

‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’ Sir Edward spluttered, draining his goblet once more. ‘I say, I didn’t expect that. How did you manage it? Oh, I see. Well, Beauvoisin, damned good play.’

One of the girls brought yet another flagon of wine and there was a clamour as goblets were thrust forward for her to fill. Guy and Sir Edward stood aside, allowing the other knights to cluster around the board and begin a new game, rather more fuddled and wine-sodden than the last.

Hester took her chance to move away and went to stand in a shadowy nook beyond the great fireplace, where she thought she might observe her guests unnoticed. After a few moments, though, Guy was beside her once more.

‘So, my lady, would you still like to learn chess?’

Hester nodded silently. The game still fascinated her, but she was wary of allowing him to draw her into private conversation. Instead, she continued to stare towards the chessboard as if studying every move, though heaven knew her thoughts were dominated by the man beside her.

He allowed the silence to last a few moments longer. The fire crackled and spat as it caught a new log. The knights’ goblets clinked and chinked as they drank.

‘What had you planted in that field?’ he asked then, his voice low and serious. ‘The one where we…’ he hesitated, searching for the right word ‘…where we met this afternoon.’

‘Barley,’ Hester replied tersely, her annoyance returning with the memory of those heavy horses on her crop, and of the indignities she had suffered at his hands.

‘We were in high spirits, having reached our destination,’ he said, a note of apology in his voice, as he drained the wine from his goblet and set it down on the settle with a clatter.

Hester nodded, but said nothing.

‘It has been a long absence and a lengthy journey home,’ he continued.

‘My lord has no need to explain. It is your own crop to do with as you choose. I did not know then who you were,’ Hester answered in as level a voice as she could muster.

‘And I did not know…should perhaps have realised, but…’

‘You still call Abbascombe “home”, then?’ Hester interrupted, unwilling to hear his explanations.

‘Of course. There has not been a day these ten years when I did not think of it, and of those I had left here.’ There was an openness in his words which surprised her.

‘I had not thought you would ever return,’ she replied matter-of-factly, determined to keep all hint of emotion out of her own voice.

‘There were times when I shared your doubt, but I always meant to return, always wished for a homecoming. And now I am here,’ he said, looking around the hall. ‘I am luckier than many who will never see home again.’

‘Is it as you remembered?’

‘Some things are the same,’ he nodded. ‘But others are greatly changed.’

As Hester stared intently ahead of her, pretending to watch the chess, she suddenly felt his hand reaching for hers. As his strong fingers closed around hers, she tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip. She was frozen to the spot, caught between a wish to flee and a strange longing to remain.