World Without End

But she did not reciprocate his caresses. Her lips never moved against his, her tongue never slipped into his mouth, she never stroked his skin. She kept a vial of almond oil handy, and lubricated her unresponsive body with it whenever he wanted sex. She lay as still as a corpse while he grunted on top of her. The moment he rolled off, she went to wash herself.

The only good thing about the marriage was that Odila was fond of little Gerry. The baby brought out her nascent maternal instinct. She loved to talk to him, sing him songs and rock him to sleep. She gave him the kind of affectionate mothering he would never really get from a paid nurse.

All the same, Ralph was regretful. Philippa’s voluptuous body, which he had stared at with longing for so many years, was now revolting to him. He had not touched her for weeks, and he probably never would again. He looked at her heavy breasts and round hips, and wished for the slender limbs and girlish skin of Tilly. Tilly, whom he had stabbed with a long, sharp knife that went up under her ribs and into her beating heart. That was a sin he did not dare to confess. How long, he wondered wretchedly, would he suffer for it in purgatory?

The bishop and his colleagues were staying in the prior’s palace, and the Monmouth entourage filled the priory’s guest rooms, so Ralph and Philippa and their servants were lodging at an i

Ralph and his companions attracted a crowd of admiring young men and women such as always gathered around free-spending noblemen. Ralph gradually forgot his troubles in the euphoria of drink and the thrill of gambling.

He noticed a young fair-haired woman watching him with a yearning expression as he cheerfully lost stacks of silver pe

He gradually lost interest in the game and transferred his attention to her. His men carried on betting while he got to know Ella. She was everything Philippa was not: happy, sexy, and fascinated by Ralph. She touched him and herself a lot – she would push her hair off her face, then pat his arm, then hold her hand to her throat, then push his shoulder playfully. She seemed very interested in his experiences in France.

To Ralph’s a

Today was only the third or fourth time the two brothers had met since the death of Tilly. On previous occasions, such as Ralph’s wedding to Philippa, there had hardly been time to talk. All the same Ralph knew, from the way his brother looked at him, that Merthin suspected him of being Tilly’s killer. The unspoken thought was a looming presence, never addressed but impossible to ignore, like the cow in the cramped one-room hovel of a poor peasant. If it was mentioned, Ralph felt that would be the last time they ever spoke.

So tonight, as if by mutual consent, they once again exchanged a few meaningless platitudes, then Merthin left, saying he had work to do. Ralph wondered briefly what work he was going to do at dusk on a December evening. He really had no idea how Merthin spent his time. He did not hunt, or hold court, or attend on the king. Was it possible to spend all day, every day, making drawings and supervising builders? Such a life would have driven Ralph mad. And he was baffled by how much money Merthin seemed to make from his enterprises. Ralph himself had been short of money even when he had been lord of Tench. Merthin never seemed to lack it.

Ralph turned his attention back to Ella. “My brother’s a bit grumpy,” he said apologetically.

“It’s because he hasn’t had a woman for half a year.” She giggled. “He used to shag the prioress, but she had to throw him out after Philemon came back.”

Ralph pretended to be shocked. “Nuns aren’t supposed to be shagged.”

“Mother Caris is a wonderful woman – but she’s got the itch, you can tell by the way she walks.”

Ralph was aroused by such frank talk from a woman. “It’s very bad for a man,” he said, playing along. “To go for so long without a woman.”

“I think so too.”

“It leads to… swelling.”

She put her head on one side and raised her eyebrows. He glanced down at his own lap. She followed his gaze. “Oh, dear,” she said. “That looks uncomfortable.” She put her hand on his erect penis.

At that moment, Philippa appeared.

Ralph froze. He felt guilty and scared, and at the same time he was furious with himself for caring whether Philippa saw what he was doing or not.

She said: “I’m going upstairs – oh.”

Ella did not release her hold. In fact she squeezed Ralph’s penis gently, while looking up at Philippa and smiling triumphantly.

Philippa flushed red, her face registering shame and distaste.

Ralph opened his mouth to speak, then did not know what to say. He was not willing to apologize to his virago of a wife, feeling that she had brought this humiliation on herself. But he also felt somewhat foolish, sitting there with a tavern tart holding his prick while his wife, the countess, stood in front of them looking embarrassed.

The tableau lasted only a moment. Ralph made a strangled sound, Ella giggled, and Philippa said “Oh!” in a tone of exasperation and disgust. Then Philippa turned and walked away, head held u

Ralph felt both angry and ashamed, though he reasoned that he had no need to feel either. However, his interest in Ella diminished visibly, and he took her hand away.

“Have some more wine,” she said, pouring from the jug on the table, but Ralph felt the onset of a headache and pushed the wooden cup away.

Ella put a restraining hand on his arm and said in a low, warm voice: “Don’t leave me in the lurch now that you’ve got me all, you know, excited.”

He shook her off and stood up.

Her face hardened and she said: “Well, you’d better give me something by way of compensation.”

He dipped into his purse and took out a handful of silver pe

She began to scoop up the coins hastily.

Ralph left her and went upstairs.

Philippa was on the bed, sitting upright with her back against the headboard. She had taken off her shoes but was otherwise fully dressed. She stared accusingly at Ralph as he walked in.

He said: “You have no right to be angry with me!”

“I’m not angry,” she said. “But you are.”

She could always twist words around so that she was in the right and he in the wrong.

Before he could think of a reply, she said: “Wouldn’t you like me to leave you?”

He stared at her, astonished. This was the last thing he had expected. “Where would you go?”

“Here,” she said. “I won’t become a nun, but I could live in the convent nevertheless. I would bring just a few servants: a maid, a clerk and my confessor. I’ve already spoken to Mother Caris, and she is willing.”