Immersed in the climactic maelstrom at the water’s edge, he and his lover move together with complementary rhythms…
Coupled, entwined…
With vocal, surging desires…
Onward and onward…
Faster and faster forward…
”Oh, Corinne.”
Pierre bolted upright as he woke in the middle of a midnight storm, his arms flailing about, a yell escaping his lips, but overcome by the sound of thunder. In a brief moment, a lightning flash illuminated the remains of his late wife’s bedshift, its form torn through the heart, the edges ragged, threadbare, fluttering in the moist wind swirling in through the open window. “No!!!” he screamed into the thunderous darkness which followed.
A sudden gust pulled then at the tattered garment and ripped it from his hands into the dark void beyond his reach. As Pierre stood on his bed trying to locate and retrieve the airborne remnant, lightning and thunder followed in quick succession, the climactic crescendo filling the room. In among the flashing glimpses of the cloth, Pierre yelled, “No! Come back! Come back to me! Forgive me! Please! Forgive me!”
When at last the storm’s fury diminished and the torn cloth could not be seen, Pierre sank back down to his bed, sobbing and murmuring his entreaties into the hollow darkness around him. Emotionally and physically spent, he closed his teary eyes and fell back to sleep.
“My lord?” called a voice through the haze of his slumber.
With a start, Pierre awoke. “Forgive me!” he shouted as he struggled to regain his senses.
“My lord?”
Pierre looked around himself, then. Slowly, he became aware of the memory of last night’s storm, the loss of the bedshift and the dream which preceded it.
“My lord? Are you ill?” Étienne asked of his liege.
“No. No, Étienne. I am not ill.” Noticing the odd position in which he was laying on the bed, he added, “Last night was a difficult night for sleep, with the storm and all.” A pause, then, “Thank you for your concern. I’m quite alright.”
Étienne relaxed a bit, but his concern never left his eyes. “Very good, my lord. My lord, I didn’t want to wake you, but a Genoese messenger arrived from the south a few moments ago.”
Pierre snapped himself awake at the news. “A Genoese messenger? At last! Perhaps we can get this expedition moving after all. Étienne, set breakfast on the balcony for him. I’ll be down shortly.”
“Already done, my lord. I’ve also set a place for you as well.”
“Excellent. Well done, Étienne. Now, go and tell Guillaume to meet us on the balcony. He’ll need to hear the news as well.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it at once.”
As Étienne left the room, Pierre pushed all thoughts of Danielle and Corinne aside. It was time to attend to his duty.
Pierre found the messenger seated at the table on the balcony and enjoying a breakfast of fruits, meats and breads. Upon seeing Pierre walk onto the balcony, the messenger rose and quickly wiped his mouth.
After a quick bow, the messenger said formally, “Buongiorno, il mio signore. My name is Roberto and I have been sent by my captain to notify you of our arrival. If all goes as planned, my captain and his men shall arrive some time after noon.”
Just as Roberto was finishing his message, Guillaume arrived on the balcony with Étienne in tow. Pierre turned to his man-at-arms and asked him, “You heard the message, Guillaume?”
“Yes, my lord. I did. Excellent news.”
“Yes. Excellent news, indeed,” Pierre replied thoughtfully. After a pause, he said to Guillaume, “Prepare accommodations for the Genoese. We will stay the night and leave fully rested. Rushing off now will only diminish our fighting capacity over time. Do we have space for sixty men?”
A nervous cough from Roberto interrupted Guillaume’s answer. Pierre turned to the messenger. “Is there something wrong, Roberto?”
“Yes, il mio signore. We will not need accommodations for sixty men. Space for forty eight men will be sufficient,” Roberto informed him.
“Forty eight? What happened to the sixty men you started with?” Pierre asked accusingly.
Roberto nervously coughed again before replying. “My captain begs forgiveness for the missing men, il mio signore. The journey was long and fraught with many hardships and many… temptations, shall we say. The men that remain are quite loyal and steadfast, il mio signore. They are quite trustworthy.” Bowing slightly, Roberto continued, “The others were more given to excessive drink and other wanton ways, il mio signore. Their absence will hardly be noticed.”
“Well, as true as that may be, Roberto, absence of men and absence of coin go hand in hand. Your captain understands this, does he not?”
“He does indeed, il mio signore. He feels the lightness of his purse most keenly.”
“Well then. That is settled.” Turning to Guillaume, he said, “Go and prepare accommodations for what men eventually arrive. Also, notify the wagonmasters of tomorrow’s departure. We shall be leaving at first light. We’ve dawdled enough here.”
“Yes, my lord,” Guillaume answered and turned to leave.
Turning back to Roberto, Pierre said, “Come, Roberto. Sit, and finish your breakfast. I’m most interested in your journey here.”
Pierre spent the rest of the morning eating and listening to tales of Roberto’s journey. When the breakfast was finished, Roberto gathered his things and went to look for Guillaume. Pierre stayed on the balcony and let his mind drift back to his experiences on past campaigns.
The waiting grew tiresome, however. Morning became afternoon and began its long, slow fade to evening. Pierre spent most of that time on the balcony, overseeing the busy preparations in the yard. He longed to take one last free ride on Triomphe before the campaign, but he also wanted to be on hand to meet the Genoese when they arrived.
The arrival itself was anticlimactic. The journeyworn crossbowmen passed through the courtyard gates just before supper. While tired and dirty, they carried themselves with an air of confidence, a fact not lost on the Neufchâteau garrison troops.
The captain, as he styled himself, dismounted in front of the balcony and, accompanied by Guillaume, climbed the stairs. After a florid bow, he said in fluent French, “My dear Baron, after many harsh trials, the martial heart of Genoa stands ready to fight the hordes that harry your country so. Captain Anselmo and the Genoa Legion are in your service.”
“Well met, Captain Anselmo. Would you care to sup with me this evening?”
After another exaggerated bow, Anselmo replied, “I respectfully decline, my lord. My place is with my men.”
“Very well,” Pierre said. “Guillaume here will show you where you and your men can bed for the night. He will also provide you with everything you and your men need. We leave in the morning.”
“Very good, my lord,” Anselmo said with another extravagant bow. “And a good evening to you.” Anselmo turned then and followed Guillaume down to the courtyard below.
Pierre, for his part, retired to his study and ate his supper in silence. Once he was finished, he left the chateau and walked to the cemetery, lost in his thoughts and oblivious to the dimming twilight around him. The memory of last night’s events still troubled him greatly. The dream, coupled with the storm and the loss of Danielle’s bedshift, had forced his latent guilt to the surface, as did the reborn affair with Corinne, truth be told.
Corinne. She was both a blessing and a curse to him. The carnal delights she offered pleased him and her professed love seemed genuine enough. However, those very things exposed a weakness in him that he did not like to see. From a selfish point of view, he could justify placing the blame for his troubled spirit squarely on her shoulders. After all, it was she who had made the initial moves that ignited their passions. Then again, Pierre had known what the possible outcomes were to her advances and, while a bit reluctant, he did nothing to actively dissuade her. No, his unquiet spirit was his fault and the sooner he owned up to it the better.
Finding Danielle’s grave was an easy matter, even in the encroaching night. Once there, Pierre knelt in the crushed grass beside it and placed his left hand in the packed soil before him. He closed his eyes, blessed himself and began to quietly pray.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Oh Heavenly Father, please accept into Your loving care the spirit of my wife, Danielle, and the spirits of our children, Cécile, Madeline and Anne-Marie. They were innocent souls who did not deserve their fate.”
Pierre paused a few moments to gather his thoughts. With his eyes still closed, he began his confession. “Oh my dearest Danielle. I hope with all the love that I still have for you that you and the children have passed through St. Peter’s Gate and are basking in the glory of our Lord, in communion with the angels and saints who have been and have gone before.
My love, it is with a heavy heart that I must seek your attention and confess an old sin to you. Six years ago, in the days before I left our home to campaign in Phillip’s army, I broke our marriage vows and joined with a maiden of the town. The maiden was Corinne, who you so generously took under your wing when she returned to Neufchâteau without her family’s support. I have no good explanation to give you as to why I did this, but the fact remains that I am guilty of it. I am truly sorry for the sin that I committed against you and for the broken vows between us. I should have told you about the affair after it happened, but, when Corinne suddenly left Neufchâteau, I decided to selfishly bury the truth, lest it impact our married life. For that, I am sorry as well. In this matter, I have acted as a selfish coward, whose baseness tarnishes your noble memory.
I know that it is too late for you to rail against me as I deserve, or to forgive me as I do not. I wish I could change that and receive all the pain and sorrow that you must feel now. But, I cannot. Instead, I must live with the taint of my actions. Still, I come here to lay bare my soul to you, to acknowledge the sins of our past and to let you know how I failed you all those years ago. I am truly sorry for my actions. You deserved better than my hiding the truth from you.”
When Pierre finished his confession, he heard a familiar voice behind him quietly say, “She knew.”
Startled, Pierre whipped his head around and opened his eyes. There, standing above him, bathed in the flickering glow of a single candle, was the priest, Father Dominic. “What did you say, Father?”
“Please forgive me for intruding on your prayers, my son. It was not my intent to interfere in such a private moment. However, I couldn’t help but overhear your last few words. If it helps you at all to know… she knew of your sin.”
“But, how?” Pierre asked.
Father Dominic held out his hand to the still-kneeling nobleman. “Come. Let us go into the church where we can talk at our leisure.”
Pierre took the priest’s hand and stood up. After releasing it, they both walked to the small church where, once inside, they sat in the frontmost pew.
Pierre was the first to break the silence. “Father, how did Danielle find out about the affair? And how did you come to know as well?”
Father Dominic closed his eyes to concentrate on the old memories. He opened them again before replying, “Danielle came to me, as I was cleaning the church late one afternoon, sobbing and barely able to control herself. When I was finally able to calm her enough for her to speak, she told me how you liked to go riding alone on and around Wedding Hill. She said that, since you were soon to join Phillip’s army in the north, you had started to go on these rides more often, in order to soothe your worries and concerns about the coming campaign.
On this particular day, however, she decided to surprise you. She had the kitchens prepare a lunch basket and she rode on up to Wedding Hill to share it with you there. When she got to the top, however, you were nowhere in sight, until she looked down into the pond at the base of the hill. Disbelieving the spectacle before her, she rode back down and found the path to the pond itself.” He paused and looked knowingly at Pierre, “We both know what view awaited her there by the pond’s shore.”
Pierre was dumbstruck. The guilt that he had tried to assuage earlier intensified all the more. After a moment of considering the priest’s words, he simply stated, “She never said anything.”
“No. I’m not surprised,” the priest calmly said. “Remember, Pierre, you had left for the campaigning season within a week and Corinne had left Neufchâteau with her family within a day. In the weeks after your departure, she would also discover that she was with child. In light of those circumstances, it was quite reasonable for her to continue on in the marriage and try to forget your iniquity.”
“But when Corinne returned -”
“When Corinne returned, Danielle put her in a position where she could keep an eye on her,” the priest confirmed.
Pierre was despondent. The image that he had had of his life over the past six years shattered with Father Dominic’s words. The loving, charitable woman he thought he had been living with had become a suspicious, calculating protector of her marriage and household. And it was all his fault. In one single act of lust, he had broken his marriage vows and altered the landscape of their relationship. And, if she was capable of such duplicity where Corinne’s bakery was concerned… “Oh Danielle. You didn’t.”
“Pierre, what’s wrong?”
Ignoring the priest’s question, Pierre continued, “Danielle must have been the one who sent Corinne’s family away. Oh, what have I done? I never thought that Danielle was capable of such deceit. Oh my love, I never meant to hurt you.” Slowly, Pierre stood up and turned away from the priest, six years of guilt welling up in his eyes.
Pierre quickly spun around then. “Oh Father. She lied. She lied to us all. Corinne’s aunt wasn’t dying. Danielle paid Corinne’s family to leave Neufchâteau and told them it was my wish. That is what must have happened. That is why Corinne left.”
Father Dominic’s eyes narrowed as Pierre shared his thoughts. “Pierre, Danielle didn’t send Corinne’s family away nor did she lie to anyone about Corinne’s family. I did. I was the one who sent Corinne away.”
The priest’s confession sparked a protective anger from Pierre. “What?! By Christ’s Blood, what right did you have to do that?”
“Pierre!! Give a thought as to whose house you are in!”
“Answer the question, Father! What did you think you were doing?”
Father Dominic stood and faced Pierre. “My duty.” After a short pause, he continued, “A member of my flock came to me, a victim of broken vows and nursing a broken heart. Looking at the situation, I saw a loving, yet all too human, husband heading off to war, while his young mistress remained behind with his knowing wife, the mistress an everyday reminder of his infidelity. I saw the anguish that Danielle had in store in the days ahead and she certainly didn’t need Corinne’s presence around town to further remind her of your sin. Yes, I did sin when I deceived everyone about Corinne’s family, but I sinned to save a marriage and to protect the nobility of its adherents. Tell me, Pierre, before you try to judge me. What noble purpose did you have in mind when you took Corinne in place of your own wife?”
“Father Dominic, do not even try to speak to me of noble purposes! You had no right to interfere directly in either my life or in Corinne’s. Whatever sin Corinne and I committed, we did in full knowledge of the consequences. You sent a family into exile and used my name, my authority, to make it happen. What right did you have to do such a thing?”
“Rights? You speak of rights when you should be speaking of love. Listen. You left for war seven days after your transgression. Tell me, Pierre. When you were coupled with Corinne in the throes of passion, were you feeling disappointment that these moments were only going to be a solitary experience? How many more rides were you going to take to Wedding Hill before your departure? How many days were to pass before your trysts became commonplace? In whose arms were you going to spend your last peaceful moments before war? You can’t answer that, can you? At this moment, you feel crushing guilt over a single weak moment that occurred six years ago. How much guilt would you now feel if I hadn’t acted?”
“Listen, Father -”
“No, you listen, Pierre. I’m not finished. So far, all I’ve heard from you now are how you and Corinne were hurt by my actions. Since my confession to you, has Danielle even entered your mind? You were concerned enough for your wife when you thought that she had deceived you, but I’ve heard nothing from you regarding Danielle since my revelation. Tell me, Pierre. From whom did you hear about Corinne’s exile? I haven’t told a single soul. The only other person who would know the details of her exile would be Corinne herself. Is she the little bird who’s been singing in your ear? We both know she’s taken your cod. Don’t tell me she’s taken your wits as well.”
“Have a care, Father! Do not presume to dictate to me what I feel and for whom I feel it. I loved my wife. Completely. I had ample opportunity to lay with Corinne over the past three years and chose not to. Additionally, I did not spend the intervening years pining over Corinne. Far from it, I was glad that she left. But the fact of her leaving does not lessen the manner of her leaving. You interfered in a personal matter and violated my trust, whether you declare yourself justified or not.
And, while we’re discussing my sin, yes, I am consumed by guilt over it. Over all of it. It should never have happened and it was all my fault -”
“Not all of it,” the priest interrupted. “Corinne had a hand in it as well.”
“Corinne was a mere child, barely of age to even understand her own heart. I was her liege lord, her protector. I violated that trust whether or not she desired that outcome or fully understood its consequences. Of the two of us, I alone knew what the those could be and I ignored that knowledge to my detriment. It was my fault. The consequences of that single act rest on my shoulders alone.”
“As true as that may be, Pierre, what of Corinne now? I’m not so innocent as to assume that you’ve done naught except talk about her exile. Tell me, Pierre. Are you back in the arms of your mistress?”
Pierre stood there, unwilling to answer. “That is none of your concern.”
“On the contrary, my son. It is indeed my concern, if you continue to administer the Lord’s Justice. Remember, you only do so with the blessing of the Church, and the Church does not condone adultery. If you continue along this path, you will find the Church set against you.” Father Dominic paused before adding, “The choice is yours, of course.”
Pierre’s mood darkened considerably upon hearing the ultimatum. “Is that so? This conversation is ended; I have an expedition to prepare for. Good night, Father Dominic. We will talk further of this upon my return.” Pierre turned and walked out of the church without waiting for Father Dominic’s acknowledgement.
Pierre’s temper was smoldering under the careful pace of his footsteps. As he left the church grounds, he remembered, belatedly, that his expedition’s column would pass in front of the church to receive Father Dominic’s blessing tomorrow. This revelation only served to sour his mood even further.
After winding his way around town, Pierre found himself in front of the Pain D’Or. The bakery itself was dark, but flickering candlelight could be seen in the upstairs windows. He put his hand to the door latch, but stopped to consider his options. He should leave, he knew, but he didn’t want to. Pausing a few moments more, he opened the door and walked inside.
He found her upstairs in her room, naked, sitting on her bed and working a crude brush through her hair. She looked up and smiled when he entered her room. “I was beginning to think you might not come tonight.” Her smile faded when he didn’t answer. Noting the look on his face, she got up and walked over to him. Looking into his eyes, she asked, “What is it, my love? Is something amiss?”
Pierre looked back into Corinne’s eyes and opened his mouth as if to speak. Instead, he kissed her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, firmly. They stood there for a few moments, with eyes closed, and basked in the warmth of the room and each other.
Corinne relaxed her hold on him then and began to slowly undress him. Pierre, for his part, stood and watched her, feeling his recent anger and not-so-recent guilt evaporate in the heat of her attentions. When she completed her task, she led him to her bed and beckoned him to lie beside her.
They made love then, wordlessly and peacefully, in stark contrast to their prior couplings and the other fevered activities that surrounded their lives.
Afterward, they lay in the hot, dark silence of the room, listening to the muffled night sounds outside the closed windows, holding and caressing each other’s hands, yet each alone with their own thoughts. Tomorrow Pierre’s expedition would be heading off to war and, once again, he would be torn from the arms of those who love him.
“Don’t go,” Corinne said, her quiet, pleading voice breaking the night’s stillness. “Stay with me.”
Pierre’s heart sank, knowing he would have to replay a scene acted out too many times in his life. “Corinne, I have to go. I have my duty to fulfill, to Rudolf as my liege, to Phillip as my king and to France herself. I must go.”
“No. You don’t. You are a free man. You can make any decision you want. Please, stay here with me.”
“Corinne,” he said as gently as he could, “I cannot. I am the Baron of Neufchâteau. With that title comes responsibility and one of those responsibilities is to answer the call to war by my liege lords. I cannot stay.”
“No. I will not accept that. Thus, if you cannot make that decision freely, then I will make it for you.” She rolled her body on top of him then, straddling him and pinning him to the bed. “If you would rather choose a prison of service and responsibilities over me, then I find you unworthy of such freedom. Therefore, I will become a prison for you, a cage of unending bliss and wanton pleasure, though you deserve it not. My body shall guard you and keep you close to me and you will never escape. You belong to me now and I will never let you go.”
Pierre replied, “You cannot hold me, my love, for I know well the secrets of this prison. I know the moistened entreaties that will surrender the towers and I have the key that can unlock the prison gate.”
She gasped then as he tested her defenses. “Oh! You have unmade me! How I wish these crumbling walls of flesh were of stone instead. Then my heart’s debris could rain down upon you and break you within my bailey. Crushed, you would lie forever with me and I would never fear your leaving.”
“Oh Corinne. How could you wish something like that for me?”
“Would it not be better than to have your body broken on a battlefield far away from those who love you? What is this strange attraction that pulls you away from love to such a meager end? I could give you such a sweet, prolonged ending instead.”
“Oh my love, what would be difference? A man broken by love or war is still a wasted shell afterward. And by far, love is the more cruel. At war, amidst the tumult of battle, a man’s fate is in his own hands. His body and sword work as extensions of his wit and experience. He can emerge victorious at the end of a day’s battle, able and better-equipped for the next one. But love? A man broken by love surrenders himself upon a sacrificial altar; the slow, sultry grind of his ending guaranteed by the one who originally offered him sanctuary. Please, do not set yourself to be the high priestess of my doom. Receive Excalibur instead and become my lady.”
“Your lady? To be like your lady wife, who waited patiently alone for news of your death? If that is what it means to be ennobled, then I want no part of it. I have no wish to be the lady of a lake of tears.” Corinne paused, then continued, “I will take Excalibur, however, but I will instead use it to debase you and strip you of your nobility. I will use it to corrupt and destroy your ivory pillars of duty, honor and glory. And I will transfer all of my humble peasantry to you and give you the freedom to choose love over those other words. I will give you a new life full of love and all the sweet pleasures you desire.”
As Corinne moved to take Excalibur, Pierre held her still and explained, “But I do not go to war for the sake of mere words. I go to defend France from invaders who would destroy the lives of noble and common alike. There is neither safety nor freedom to be found among the peasantry. If the one side doesn’t yoke their strength, then the other puts it to the torch. Where is the safety? Where is the freedom? No, my love, I have the title and the responsibility and the duty. An ox may dream of eagles’ journeys, but an ox he remains. An ox may wear a gilded yoke, but an ox he remains. Do not take away from me that which I am. Give me wings and have me soar, yes, but my home is on the ground. Release me from today’s burdens, but hitch me to the next day’s wagon. I am who I am by choice. I am who you love by choice. Don’t change that. Please, don’t ask it of me.”
“But you will die!” Corinne pleaded as fresh tears streamed down the sides of her face and landed on his chest. “The mere thought of it years ago was enough for me to cast aside my virtue for you. Now that you’re here lying beneath me, I fear that it is a certainty, the price of my sin. I have bitten deep of the apple and have tasted its sweet juices. Please, let me finish it. Stay with me.”
Pierre hugged her tight then and firmly caressed her. After running his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeply, he said, “Corinne, let me assure you. I will not die a broken man on a far-off battlefield. Nothing will stop me from returning to you. I am not finished with you either.”
Corinne looked deep into his eyes then, hoping for an omen to soothe her worries or the choice left unsaid. Finding neither, she whispered, “Stay.”
“No,” he quietly replied. “I cannot.”
“Then I will finish you now!” she said amid fresh tears.
As she began to ravenously release her passions, Pierre said, “Oh my love! Oh! I will make such a lady of you tonight.”
“And I will grind you into nothing,” she replied, “for you are my everything.”