Episode 30 -- Man and Wife

"Oww!" Gundar winced as the washcloth in Marcelle’s hand passed over a particularly more spot on his shoulder. "Take care!"

Marcelle pulled back her hand and shrank away from him, head down. "Pardon, my lord." She looked so stricken that Gundar’s heart contracted with guilt. He owed his new wife his very life.

He reached his dripping arm over the edge of the bathing barrel, took the wrist of her free hand, and kissed her palm. "Where is the Marcelle I knew?" he asked. "She would have told me not to fuss like a babe."

Marcelle did not raise her head. "You are my lord now," she said, quoting the marriage ritual that had been performed over them that selfsame morning. "I owe you honour and submission by night and by day."

Gundar let her hand go. What to do with this woman? Like his father, he had always believed that women should always remain under the rule of a man. He had found Lili’s fierceness troublesome at times. If she had been more obedient to his control, she would not have defied his edict to abstain from battle, and they would be happily living in the Northlands together. And yet – it was Lili’s fire that made their union stimulating. Marcelle’s spirit had become as limp as the washcloth in her hand.

"Look at me," he commanded, modulating his voice lest she fear him even more. She complied, her eyes brimming with tears. "I wish a partner," he said, "not a slave."

"I must be subject to you. It is the law."

Gundar sighed with exasperation. "If you must make a good impression on society, so be it. But when we are alone, let us be Gundar and Marcelle, as we used to be."

"Those days can never come again," she said, her voice catching on a sob. "I am dishonoured."

"Nonsense!" Gundar said. "They will forget soon enough. You are surely not the first to lose her chastity in an untimely manner."

"It is forbidden," Marcelle said, resuming her task of washing her husband’s back. "If there is no one to claim a dishonoured woman, her babe is killed at birth and she is sent into exile."

"That is an inhuman law!" Gundar burst out. "A babe cannot be held responsible for its parents’ transgression."

"The priests say that no babe conceived in sin can ever become upright."

"Nonsense!" Gundar said. "My father has a hundred sons and daughters that he knows of, and they are no worse than any others!" It was on the tip of his tongue to claim responsibility for a handful of Baldur’s grandchildren, but deemed it inappropriate to mention such a thing on his wedding day.

"You have saved my life," Gundar said, to turn the conversation. "I will not forget that."

"And you have saved my future and my babe’s," Marcelle said. "I will do what I can to save you regret."

"You certainly arrived at an opportune time," Gundar said. "How did you happen to be in Calligena?"

Marcelle looked down, blushing. "I was looking for Pier Drost."

"He is dead," Gundar said harshly.

Marcelle looked up, her weary eyes grief-stricken. "Do not trouble yourself with lies. I know he has a wife and child, and maybe others beside."

"You still love him even now," Gundar probed.

Marcelle began to sob. "I do! I do! How can I ever be a proper wife to you?" She sank onto the floor, her hands over her face.

Gundar advantage of the moment to extract himself from his bath and wrap himself in the wooly robe that was warming before the fire. He would gladly have taken Marcelle into his arms and comforted her, but he knew that her shame was too deep to accept any tenderness. It was punishment she craved, for only punishment would ease her guilt. The kindest thing he could do for her at this moment is beat her.

"Cease your blubbering, woman," he growled. "You must make yourself ready for the wedding feast. Into the bath with you!" He stalked into the bedchamber, leaving her to perform her ablutions in private.

The clothes which had been laid out for him were handsome, though too foppish for his taste. The dark blue velvet tunic slashed with silver might have done very well with leather leggings and boots, but it was partnered with matching leggings that came only to his calves, complemented by pale blue stockings, high-heeled shoes of silver, and an elaborate headdress with curled white plumes. If that were not sufficient humiliation, he was expected to wear an enormous silver codpiece bedecked with rubies.

"That cursed archmage! Has he not punished me enough?" Gundar muttered as he struggled with the stockings. But his anger was short-lived. The ridiculous attire was such as the nobles of the king’s court wore. Arestasis had done very well by him indeed, whisking him and his bride off to his own palace, providing them with the best of everything, and arranging a wedding feast for the entire village. The king had excused himself from coming, but several members of his entourage would be there to lend an air of solemn splendour to the occasion. Much as Gundar longed to slip out a window and disappear, an evening of silly frippery was a small price to pay for his liege lord’s grace.

While Gundar was struggling with the buckles of his shoes, Marcelle entered, wearing a cream-coloured silk shift that caressed her body in a way that left him breathless. She knelt before him to help with his shoes, giving him an unobstructed view of her breasts as she leaned forward. He bit his lip, willing his hands to stay at his side. He had taken notice her womanliness before, but never like this.
Silently, she adjusted his costume, straightening his collar, replacing his clumsy knots with tidy bows, buckling on his ceremonial dagger. When she adjusted his codpiece, his head began to swim. How could he ever abstain from taking her?. True, she loved another man, and he loved another woman. But she was his wife. What harm would there be in claiming what was his by right?

"Leave me be," he said roughly. "See to your own dressing and preening."

"It is customary for the bridesmaids to dress the bride," Marcelle said. "They will be here soon. You must attend your liege lord and my father, to sign the contracts and pledges, and to be gifted with their counsel."

"What will your father have to say about all this?" he asked apprehensively.

"He will be relieved to see me safely married," Marcelle said. "I ran away without his leave and spent four days without a chaperone. He would not want me now, nor would any man."

"Four days! How did you fare?"

"When the wise woman of the village took me aside and offered me herbs to purge my womb, I had no thought but to find Pier. After he spurned me, I wandered through the streets of Calligena, not knowing where to go or what to do. Basilea Alexa found me sleeping in the travellers’ Sanctuary of Divine Benevolence. It was she who proposed the idea of invoking Gervon’s Decree."

Lexa! I might have known. Perhaps she cares for me after all.

While Gundar was still musing, the conversation was interrupted by a heavy rapping on the door. Marcelle snatched up a robe to cover herself.

"The bridesmaids have come to adorn the bride and strew flowers before her!" a herald announced. "Today love reigns supreme! May joy prevail! May your household be as a quiver of arrows, filled with children to honour your name!"

Gundar tried to stand still and solemn during the lengthy paean in honour of matrimony, but his hands were restless, fiddling with the heavy silver pendant around his neck. How could he face the wrath of Petros, who believed that he had transgressed the laws of hospitality and violated the virtue of his only child?