Chapter XXXVI

 

The Year 1120 – the Feast of Saint Catherine

The Harbor of Barfleur, Normandy

 

Martin waved goodbye to his friend Thomas. He kept his arm around Wandrille as they struggled to keep their footing in the excited crowd. He could hardly believe his good fortune. Only the noise and confusion around him convinced him he was awake. This morning he had answered the knock on his door to find Wandrille standing there.

The dearest friend of all his life, the woman he had secretly loved for so long, had looked into his eyes and confessed her love for him. The impossible had become real. She had begged him not to speak until she was done. Her words poured out so fast she tripped over them, saying she knew he could never love her but she was content to be alone forever rather than marry the wrong man. Not love her? He had pulled her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss.

All that followed was like a dream. They had walked along the quay all the way to the last point of land, watching the seabirds, talking of everything and nothing. He had held her in his arms and kissed her. They had laughed and cried. They had shared a delicious meal at the tavern, but he could not recall what he ate.

In the afternoon, Martin and Wandrille went aboard the White Ship to bid their farewell to Thomas. Martin felt awkward seeing the pain in Thomas’ eyes, but as usual his friend had been gracious and happy for them both. “If Wandrille cannot be my wife,” Thomas said, “it comforts me to know she goes to a better man than I.”

“There is no better man than you, my friend,” Martin said.

Martin and Wandrille climbed up the hill and sat on the sea wall looking down at the crowded harbor bathed in the colors of a glorious sunset.

“Have you ever seen so many people?” Wandrille said.

“I want to ask you something,” Martin said. “Not about the White Ship or the excitement of the day, but something else.”

“What is it, Martin?”

“Why did you not tell me it was the prince who broke your heart?” he said.

“What?” Wandrille’s cheeks flooded with color. “How did you know?”

Martin nodded. “I was on the stairs last night in the tavern. I saw how he looked at you, and then I knew.”

“Then you must understand that I could not let you be so foolish as to fight for my honor. All that would have accomplished would have been your death or worse, Martin. And you should know me better, for I can defend myself.”

“I would have killed him.”

“Yes, and all for nothing, for I remain as pure as I ever was. In the name of chivalry you would have lost your handsome head over nothing but an embarrassing interval. But, Martin, all that is in the past. I saw the prince for what he is in the inn last night. I loved him once, it is true, but I know now what a pathetic man he is. Not even a man, he is a spoiled child, a drunk, and a whoremonger.”

“A crown does not make a man,” Martin said.

“You speak true, dearest, and it takes more than a crown to be a prince among men. If character made princes, then you would be a king.”

“I am not worthy of you, Wandrille.

“Never let me hear you speak like that again.”

“Verily, I suffer from the falling sickness. I carry this reminder of my affliction.” He pointed to the jagged scar that ran along the side of his face. “I am not like other men. I see how villagers and servants look at me. They think I am possessed by devils, my scar the mark of Satan. Superstitions are strong. It would not be fair to burden you with a man people think is mad.”

Wandrille reached out and grabbed his hand. “No one shall ever call you mad in front of me. I swear it.” She reached out and gently ran her fingers along the scar from his forehead to his cheek, sending a heat that threatened to consume him coursing through his veins. “I would run them through with one of my father’s swords,” she said fiercely, “and throw their bodies in the bottomless well of Saint Guinefort.”

Martin took her in his arms, laughing. “I believe you would, my darling Wandrille.” He kissed her deeply.

“You are my Martin, now and forevermore,” Wandrille said, and the joy he saw in her face moved his heart.

When the sky turned lavender, they went back down to the wharf to watch the fleet sail on the high tide. Thomas saw them and they waved. He returned their salutation.

“His dream is a reality after all these years,” Wandrille said.

Martin nodded. “So is mine.”