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Fetching the jar of salve he still had left, and promising to soon seek Nell Tyler out to collect more of the medicine, he attempted to nurse his sore back as well as he could. The whip scars may have had a better chance of healing had he not received the penance to wear a hair shirt every Friday until Lent. They’d flogged him in Church not a month past, a flogging he’d chosen to take upon himself in order to spare his wife from the punishment that had been bestowed upon her for standing against him. He’d reasoned with them he was the one to blame for his lady’s transgressions, having been unable to school her to due obedience. As such, the fault lay with him for not guiding her. The punishment Judith should have had would have been a flogging after they’d shorn her hair and paraded her in Church for all to see what happens to treacherous, defiant wives. Yet Tristram would not have it. He would not let them hurt and belittle the one he loved.
Tristram’s family had been angered by his obstinacy to shield a woman who’d humiliated their noble house. They had prevailed upon Henry and the Church to request a solemn vow from Tristram that, should he keep his treacherous wife, he would make this defiant woman repent and rue the day of her betrayal. Tristram had made the vow, right before the flogging, that he would from now on keep his wife repentant and chastised. Still, those prelates who had looked upon him making the vow had caught the look of stubborn pride in his eyes when he had spoken the words. Pride was a grievous sin. They had bestowed further penance on him after the flogging. A hair shirt would cure him of his prideful ways and help him see he’d been wrong to indulge a woman who’d defied him.
In this, King Henry had cared but very little for how his vassal chose to make a fool of himself over a woman. If Tristram chose to take a flogging himself, instead of having his wife flogged, so be it then, as long as the Church and Tristram’s family were appeased. As long as Tristram made sure his wife would never step out of bounds again or seek a new treacherous cause, Henry didn’t so much care for what happened to Lady Judith. Redmore was his concern, and once Tristram held Redmore, all would be well. A secure stronghold and the due chastisement of a rebellious wife was all Henry asked for, and Tristram had clung to that, gritting his teeth against the pain and humiliation of the flogging he’d borne.
He shook his head to himself recalling that day, and the gleeful, malicious faces of all those who’d witnessed his punishment, and who’d revelled callously in seeing a lord of high blood so humbled. In spite of it all, Tristram knew he could never have done otherwise, and that he’d do it a thousand times over to keep Judith from harm. He had resolved they would never touch her. And it was a vow he would never break.
He now tried to spread what he had left of Nell Tyler’s salve on his back as well as he could, cursing his own pride and knowing he should have had one of his squires attend to him.
“Tristram!”
He winced. His back was turned on the door and he’d been busy at his task, with his mind on his troubles. It had been hard to sense that Judith had entered the chamber. He suppressed a deep sigh, fully aware that now she could see his back, and the whip scars whose full healing the hair shirt had deferred. Judith’s voice was deeply anguished, and a treacherous part of Tristram’s soul rejoiced in her anguish. Yet he had meant to hide the scars from her. He did not want her gratitude. He’d always wanted her love. But he’d come to see it was something it was most likely she could never give him.
“What’s this? Who did this to you?” Judith asked in the same high, anguished voice.
Tristram sighed deeply.
“Instead of prattling, perchance you could come and help nurse my back since you’re already here.”
He closed his eyes as soon as Judith came to tend to him, immersing himself in the bliss of having her soft fingers spread the salve in order to soothe his skin.
“You’re hurt!” Judith said in the same voice which seemed anguished.
“Don’t make so much of it,” Tristram growled, now already beginning to feel vexed with the way she was behaving. “It hardly pains me. And in a few weeks’ time I shall be rid of the accursed penance shirt, so I’ll be the better for it.”
“But why? Who’d whip a lord? And why the penance?”
Tristram found he’d had enough of his wife’s care. He pushed her hand aside and fetched the fresh tunic he’d prepared.
“It was all for my sins,” he said tersely, knowing it was best she never learnt of it.
He did not want Judith’s gratitude, and had never sought it. What he had done had been because he’d wanted it so.
“Sins? What sins were those?” Judith now asked, not letting him be.
“They’re mine. I do not care to share them.”
Tristram strode to the door, knowing he needed to go away from her at this time. Yet Judith called after him, and this made him stop in his tracks.
“It was for my sake, wasn’t it? So thattheywouldn’t chastise me!”
He closed his eyes wearily.
“Just look at me! Say something!” Judith pleaded.
Tristram would have wanted to say many things to his wife, but at this time he resolved it was best not to speak to her. Nothing good would come of it. He would be again tempted to think there might be hope she cared for him somewhat, even in spite of the wretched way in which she’d spurned him.
Judith remained staring after Tristram,deeply shaken by what she’d perceived. Her shame burnt fiercely, because she at last understood that Tristram had not only thought to shield her in this but he’d suffered for her sake, with no regard for himself. They’d hurt him. She pictured the scene in her head as tears welled in her eyes. They’d hurt her beautiful Tristram. And she herself had been the cause of it. In truth, she’d been the one to hurt him.
For hours on end she was numb, unable to think. At last, she began to feel torn between grief and joy. Because she finally understood that Tristram’s words all those years ago had been true. He loved her. Truly loved her. Immeasurably so it seemed, because he’d borne pain and humiliation for her, even if she had spurned him. She’d been so blind and wicked – unable to see that the words she’d feared so much were true.
When at last her mother called for her, Judith went to see her in the solar, shaking her head to herself and understanding how blind she’d been. She stared at her mother, now at last beginning to see her for what she was in truth – a woman who was deeply sick, and whose counsel she had trusted when she should have relied only upon herself. All those years ago, Tristram had been right to tell her she’d been a child. And today was perchance the first day in which she was a child no longer.
“At last I’ve had an answer from my sister, to the letter I sent her,” Lady Fenice said, perusing a piece of parchment and, for once, unable to see her daughter’s distress.
“Oh,” Judith said, having recently learned from Lord FitzRolf that the lady Edith might be forced to take the veil and join a priory.
Lady Fenice then went on, telling the tale of how King Henry hadn’t been inclined to entirely forgive her aunt for her ardent support for Queen Eleanor’s cause. Yet he’d chosen to be lenient on his foes, since he knew many of them still held powerful connections in France. As Lady Edith’s own husband had been killed in the rebellion some months ago, the king had taken possession of the rebel’s fortune, leaving the lady Edith with only enough to join the convent.
