To The Castle. Joan Wolf

words of denial just wouldn’t come.

      The bishop looked to Roger. “You may take the bride’s hand.”

      I am being handed over from one to the other, just like a piece of chattel, Nell thought despairingly.

      Roger reached out and took Nell’s hand into his. His large grasp felt warm around her frozen fingers.

      She stood next to Roger and they listened as the bishop read to the church the Old Testament passage about the creation of the world: “God created man in His image, in the divine image He created him, male and female He created them. God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it.’”

      The bishop made the sign of the cross over them, and Roger and Nell turned to take their places at the kneelers on the altar. The bishop started the mass.

      The familiar Latin words rolled over Nell, but her mind was on the reading the bishop had just given. The purpose of marriage was procreation. She remembered what her mother had told her about how babies were conceived, and she shuddered. How could she endure such a violation of her modesty?

      Her attention went back to the mass when the bishop mounted the pulpit.

      The bishop began reading from the book of Matthew: “When Jesus finished these words, he left Galilee and went to the district of Judea across the Jordan. Great crowds followed him, and he cured them there. Some Pharisees approached him, and tested him, saying, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any cause whatever?’ He said in reply, ‘Have you not read that from the beginning the Creator made them male and female and said, “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh?”’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore, what God has joined together, no human being must separate.”

      Marriage is a sacrament blessed by God, Nell told herself. This is a holy thing I am doing.

      But I always thought I would be a bride of Christ, not of a man! Sybilla should be making this marriage, not me. I should be back in the convent, where I belong, not here, being wed to this stranger.

      Now the bishop was coming to the center of the altar to stand in front of them. “My brother and sister in Christ,” he said. “You have come here today to ask the church’s blessing on your marriage. Marriage was ordained by God for the procreation of children, to avoid fornication and for the mutual help and comfort that one might have of the other. Therefore I must ask of you, do you Roger de Roche, take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

      “I do,” Roger answered firmly.

      “Do you pledge to care for her, to comfort her, to be faithful to her all the days of your life?”

      “I do,” Roger answered again.

      The bishop turned to Nell. “Do you, Eleanor de Bonvile, take this man to be your wedded husband?”

      There was a pause. I could say no, she thought. But she didn’t have the nerve. “I do,” she said in a voice that was scarcely audible.

      “Do you pledge to care for him, to comfort him, to be faithful to him all the days of your life?”

      “I do,” Nell said.

      “Do you have the ring?” the bishop asked Roger, who took a plain gold band from a pouch on his belt.

      “You may put it on her finger,” the bishop said.

      Roger took Nell’s small, cold hand into his and slid the ring on her finger. It was too big and she had to close her fist to keep it on.

      The bishop then spoke to the assembly in the church. “In as much as Roger and Eleanor have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed to it before God and this company, and have given and pledged their lives to each other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they be man and wife. In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

      Roger turned his head and smiled down at Nell. She did not smile back.

      It’s done, she thought bleakly. It’s been sealed by the bishop in front of all these people. I’m married to Roger de Roche.

      Nell listened to the familiar prayers, but she felt detached from it all. She felt numb. It was as though all of this were happening to someone else and all she was doing was looking on. Even when she received the host upon her tongue and bent her head to pray, she felt a distance. This had always been one of her favorite moments of the day; she had felt so close to Christ when she received Him into her own body. But now her words seemed perfunctory, not deeply felt as they usually were. “Help me, Jesus,” she prayed automatically. “Please help me.”

      Finally the mass was over and the bishop was coming to stand before them once more. It was time for the last blessing. He raised his hands and began to pray.

      The spectator that was Nell bowed her head. Then the six altar servers lined up to process out, and the bishop fell in behind them. Roger gave Nell his arm and they took their places behind the bishop. The choir once more began to chant as the procession moved down the center aisle of the cathedral.

      The wedding was over. They joined their families in the vestibule and, after much congratulations, they walked over to the bishop’s residence where the wedding supper was to be held. Nell’s hand rested on the fine linen of Roger’s sleeve. It’s done, she thought sadly. I’m married. She walked beside Roger like an animated doll. I’ve been handed over from my father to Roger. The life I knew is gone for good.

      Seven

      The wedding supper was held in the bishop’s private dining room and was attended by the bishop, Nell and Roger, Earl Raoul, Lady Alice, and Roger’s grandfather, Earl William. The rest of the congregation was being fed in the sheriff’s quarters in the castle. Behind each of the guests was a squire from Bardney, ready to serve each course as it came out of the kitchen, to fetch more wine, and to bring ewers and basins so they could wash their hands. The Norman aristocracy was fastidious about cleanliness, and since they ate with their hands and shared dishes, etiquette decreed that hands and nails must be kept scrupulously clean at table.

      The men carried on the conversation and the talk was about the expected landing of the Empress Mathilda on English soil.

      “Stephen has men in position at all the main ports,” the bishop said. “If she tries to land, she will be turned back.”

      “There are dozens of small ports along the English coast where she may come in,” Lord Raoul said. “I doubt she’ll try to land at some place like Dover.”

      “Robert of Gloucester is too smart to try to come in at a main port,” Lord William agreed. Robert, Earl of Gloucester, was the empress’s powerful bastard half brother. He was the chief English champion of her cause and her main adviser.

      “How many men do you think will come with her?” Roger asked.

      “I don’t know,” Lord Raoul said. “I don’t think her husband will want to give up any of his men, not while he is engaged in the conquest of Normandy. It’s Mathilda who wants England, not Geoffrey Plantagenet.”

      “She wants the crown of England for her son,” Lord William said.

      “Aye,” Lord Raoul agreed. “Just as Stephen wants to keep it for his own son.”

      Roger dipped his meat into the dish of sauce that was between him and Nell. “What do you think will happen when she does land?” he asked.

      “We’ll have to wait and see how many barons go over to her side,” Lord Raoul replied.

      Roger brought the piece of meat back to his trencher. “Brian fitz Count has always been one of her supporters.”

      “Yes,” Lord Raoul said. “And a few men from the west may go over to support Gloucester. That’s