Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [365]
She had taught herself to be patient; it had not been easy. How they secretly irritated her, these two men who were so necessary to her, with their quiet grey eyes and their slow and quiet ways. Their father, a skilful man who physically resembled them, had had a quick temper and a wicked sense of humour to match her own fiery mind. But his two sons were like slow-moving streams, never even in flood, on which she knew the little boat of her family must sail. How she longed for the company of different men, and how carefully she concealed her frustration, for she sensed that if she ever allowed her temper to flare up, she would lose their loyalty. But she had been patient. She had even come to love them over the years.
And now her authority was to be tested. For if her plan was to work, she must never allow her authority to slip, even for a moment: there must be no sign of weakness.
The first test came that evening.
It was about an hour before dusk, when the family had finished the light meal of wheatcakes she had made, that John quietly rose and began to walk out of the little compound.
An instinct made her follow him.
“Where are you going?”
He grinned cheerfully.
“To the miz-maze. Catch some coneys.”
The miz-maze of the Godefroi knights, only two miles away to the west, had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Although the pattern of the maze could be clearly seen in the turf, it had not been re-cut for years; for Gilbert, probably because it had been such a favourite haunt of his father’s, had never cared for the place and seldom went there. In the circle of yew trees around it, where the soil was soft, a thriving colony of rabbits had now sprung up – a warren which could have been a modest but valuable asset to Gilbert if he had shown any interest in it. It was the one corner of the estate where discreet poaching was never noticed.
But now Agnes shook her head.
“You must not go there. Coneys are unclean.” She reminded him of the warning in Leviticus.
“They sell well enough in the market,” he protested, gazing at her stubbornly.
“They carry plague,” she said.
His grey eyes were unconvinced, and as she faced him, she sensed that this was a crisis. If he went to catch coneys now, her authority would be undermined and she would never hold the little family together in the difficult days ahead.
“The plague is about to strike,” she said with certainty. “It may be in Avonsford already. Think of the children.”
He hesitated.
“We must stay together here,” she pressed on quickly, “and never leave until it has passed. You’ll see what happens to the others.”
John said nothing, but to her relief, he turned back.
Just before he went back with her into the sheep house she put her hand on his arm.
“Promise me, until the plague has passed, that you will obey me,” she asked.
Again, he gazed at her unwillingly, and though she stared back at him with steadfast eyes she was inwardly praying: “Let him obey Your will, dear God.”
Slowly, grudgingly, he nodded and walked inside. It was enough for the moment.
But by the next morning, she had failed.
Of the two brothers, Nicholas was the one she feared less. He was fairer than John and even milder in temper; he was employed as a cathedral mason in the constant repair of the fabric that the great building required, and when John had gone to the French Wars, it was Nicholas who had stayed at Sarum to look after Agnes and the children.
Yet it was Nicholas, just before dawn, who slipped out of the sheep house unnoticed and set off towards the city.
And when she saw what had happened, Agnes pursed her lips and said nothing, but she knew what she must do.
He was glad to get away from Agnes. Sometimes she frightened him. For if she supposed