A Lady Under Siege - By B.G. Preston Page 0,8
be slipped by Sylvanne into his food and drink surreptitiously. Each remedy in turn raised her hopes and expectations, only to disappoint. She remained childless.
Her marriage, forged in great expectations for happiness, had slowly begun to metamorphose into one wherein happiness grew ever more elusive, as the essential contract at its heart was neither fulfilled nor satisfied. She lived in a kind of stasis, awaiting resolution. Then one day, out of the blue, came a messenger, an envoy from Thomas of Gastoncoe, a powerful Lord with abundant lands two days ride to the east. Lord Thomas wished a private meeting with her, an unheard of thing for any man to ask of a properly married woman. The request had aroused in Gerald a horrible suspicion, and for the first time he had struck her in anger. Lord Thomas was denied, yet persisted in his demands for a meeting, and Gerald in his jealousy could not be placated. She took this as a sign that he truly loved her, and loved him a little more in return. She worked hard to regain his trust, for she had done nothing wrong, and fully supported her husband when he rudely dismissed each new entreaty from Lord Thomas.
The strange desire of this Thomas to meet with another man’s wife then took on the appearance of single-minded insanity—he raised among his subjects a sizable company of soldiers, and sent them to lay siege to Gerald and Sylvanne in their little castle, with its granary still not properly replenished since the wedding, its larder nearly bare. Thomas’s soldiers encamped outside the gates, and poor Gerald, “the young fool with no proper counsel,” had no powerful ally to call upon. He and Sylvanne and their loyal retinue became prisoners of the worst sort, prisoners without provisions. Rationing was required almost immediately, food was scarce and poor. A few weeks later Sylvanne missed her monthly cycle, and she had rejoiced at first, and rushed to tell her husband, who was greatly pleased that she had finally conceived him a child. Shortly thereafter she came to realise that every female besieged alongside her was suffering a similar symptom, for severe hunger makes a woman cease to menstruate. When she told Gerald, it was the most painful admission of her life, and it seemed to break something inside him. An unnamed illness began to sap his will to live, his resolve to endure and prevail over his besiegers. From that day forward she never heard him express confidence, or optimism, never saw him smile, or even look a little healthy, for his every word and gesture spoke of fatigue and resignation. Then his very body began to waste away, much more obviously than the rest of them, who also suffered hunger and deprivation. And now he lay upon the bed, unspeaking, looking as much like a corpse as a living being. “Live for me,” she whispered to him. “Please live for me.” She told herself now that she loved him, but more than that she could not imagine life without his protection. And she could not imagine what strange obsession could have compelled Lord Thomas to perpetrate this siege that was killing her husband.
YOUNG ETHELWYNNE POURED A pitcher of lukewarm water over Sylvanne’s shoulders. She shivered as the water ran down her naked body. Mabel, sleeves rolled up, scrubbed her skin so harshly it hurt.
“You murder me,” Sylvanne muttered.
“I’m sorry Madame, I’ve never seen dirt so well-entrenched.”
“Concentrate on the parts of me that will show when I’m clothed,” Sylvanne said. “All that matters is my hands, forearms, my face and neck, and as much of my bosom as the dress displays.”
“You’ve lost weight, ma’am,” Mabel remarked. “The display won’t be so ample as it once was. Luckily, I’m an expert in the artifice such an occasion calls for.”
“Just get me clean, Mabel. Stop scraping at my thigh with that course soap, and attend to the principle places.”
There was a loud knocking upon the door. Ethelwynne went to investigate and came back wide eyed.
“Ma’am?”
“What is it?”
“He moves.”
There was no time to get properly dressed. She ordered Mabel to wrap her body in one of the white linens used for drying, then to drape her in two finer sheets from the bed, one over each shoulder like sashes. To hold it all together they took the first belt that came to hand, meant for a lavender dress, and tied it snug under her breasts. Thus arrayed she hurried toward her husband’s room,