Page 26 of The Silent Songbird

He dropped his catch of fish on the grass and ran toward it.

In a small clearing stood a wattle-and-daub house, and in the doorway, a man held a woman by the hair while he struck her about the head and shoulders with his fist.

Westley ran toward them. “Ho, there! Stop!”

Another man ran toward them from another direction. Together they pulled the man away from the woman, who started alternately sobbing and yelling, “Robert, you surly knave! You evil dog!”

Westley and one of the other villagers took the man by his arms and pulled him several feet away from the house as the woman went inside, her muffled sobs drifting out to them.

“You’ve done it now, Robert,” the other man said gruffly. “Too much ale. What did I tell you? You want your little son and daughter to see you like that, whaling on their mother?”

Westley let him keep speaking to the man. They seemed to know each other well. But all of a sudden the man jerked away from them and glared at Westley.

“What right have you to take hold of me?”

“Hush, Robert. That’s the lord’s heir, Westley.”

“No right!” the inebriated man yelled at Westley. “No right! Go on.”

“Forgive him, Lord Westley,” the other man said. “He’s drunk. He will be meek and mild enough when he’s not got the devil drink in his veins.”

“He’ll answer for his actions at the manorial court.”

“Yes, of course, my lord. His Molly will see to that. She has had enough of his rough treatment. It is good of you to come to her aid.”

“No right!” The man jabbed his finger at Westley. He growled like an animal, then stumbled away into the woods.

What kind of trouble would this wife-beater make? He had better accept whatever punishment the manorial court doled out to him. Indeed, he had little choice, and hopefully he would get the message that beating one’s wife—or anyone else—would not be ignored.

Chapter Eight

Golda met her with a scowl on her face when Evangelinecame back from feeding the pigs.

“Where have you been? Dawdling servants have to clean the floors.” She had also stared pointedly at Evangeline’s skirts, which were covered in dirt from the mud that spattered on her when she had chased the pigs. She sent Evangeline for more water and gave her a block of lye soap and set her to work on the floors.

That evening, when Mistress Alice dismissed Evangeline from her work, she hurried toward the undercroft to change her dress, which was now wet from scrubbing floors all day. Her hands were blistered, cracked, and red, but it had been worth it to spend time talking with Westley.

As she hurriedly pulled on a clean dress, Muriel came up behind her and caught her wrist. “Come outside with me,” she whispered.

Evangeline complied and followed her out. It was not dark yet, so they hid among a stand of trees.

Muriel looked hard into her face. “Are you not tired yet of all this nonsense?”

“Nonsense?” Evangeline spoke close to Muriel’s ear so she could speak as softly as possible and only be heard by her friend.

“Living like a servant, working harder than either of us were ever meant to work. This is not the kind of life you were born for. Your grandfather was a king!”

“Lower your voice. Someone might hear.” Evangeline glanced around, but she did not see anyone.

She grabbed Evangeline’s hand and turned up the palm. “Look at this! Red and raw. Blistered and bleeding. Is this what you want?”

Evangeline only stared back at her.

“Listen to me. I understand.” Muriel’s voice was much softer and kinder. But her eyes still flashed. “You don’t want to marry someone you do not feel a courtly love for. But courtly love is for poems and songs. It is not . . .” She sighed. “Romantic love is very well to dream about, to imagine what it might be like to fall in love and marry and live in bliss for the rest of your life.” Muriel rolled her eyes at the mention of living in bliss. “But it is not the way of kings and those with royal blood. You have the good fortune of being betrothed to the king’s advisor, to an earl. You will be wealthy. You will not have to work or worry about anything. You will be taken care of.”

And thereby, Muriel would be taken care of. But perhaps Evangeline was being unkind to her loyal friend.

“I don’t mind working.” Evangeline stared down at her hands. Some of the blisters were oozing a mixture of blood and clear liquid. The pain would not bother her if she could talk to Westley again tonight and get to read the holy book that he obviously wanted to share with her.