agreed that I'm a proper husband for you. There, does that sound more
civilised? Nay ... nay, lass. Don't weep again. Ye're not breeding,
are you?"
"Yes ... yes, Silas."
"Are you saying yes to the idea, or to...? God in heaven!" He reined
the horse in and took her face in his hand, searching her limpid green
eyes for the answer.
"You areT " It's too soon, but I think I may be. Does it complicate
matters, Silas? " She sniffed, wiping a tear off on to his bare
chest.
"Will it have to be a shorter wooing now?"
"Sweetheart, I know my timing is not half-bad, but this time it's damn
near perfect, isn't it?" His laugh reflected all the joys of their
reunion, ending with a bass whoop that lifted the stallion's head and
those of the nearby shrimpers.
"The wooing will have to be curtailed, I fear, but will that be so very
uncomfortable for you, my darling girl?"
"Not so uncomfortable as those days since I left you, beloved. I
wished a hundred times a day that I'd told you of my love for you while
I had the chance, but pride and jealousy got in the way and I deserved
to suffer. I've never known a pain like it, Silas. It blinded me. How
could I be so stupid when I knew even before we left this harbour that
I loved you? I want to bear your child, Silas. And above everything I
want you to be proud of me."
"I am, my love. I was in Brugge, too. That reminds me; the Duke asked
me for you."
"And you told him?"
He tightened his arm around her as the stallion took the steps up to
the quay.
"I told him no, in the circumstances. I dare say he'll understand when
next he sees you, eh?"
But one whose understanding could not be relied on was young John
Brakespeare. The sight of a half-naked man holding an obviously
emotional and dishevelled young woman before him on his saddle-bow
clattering into the courtyard could mean only one thing, when everyone
knew how she had fled from his forcible abduction only last month.
Pushing young Francis aside, John ran to Isolde with arms outstretched,
lifting her down before either of the riders had realised that the look
on his face was of hostility rather than concern.
"Go inside," he told Isolde, swinging her away to one side.
"My mother will tend you while I see to this."
"What?" said Isolde.
"See to what?"
The quizzical half-smile missed John by a mile as he turned his
attention to Silas who, swinging his leg over the horse's mane, was in
mid-flight when John's punch hit him in the ribs. Momentarily, Silas
doubled, warding off with his forearm John's next unexplained attack,
but the young man saw only what was there before him, his rival with a
tearful Isolde. He lunged again.
Torn between laughter and incredulity, Silas grabbed his shirt from the
saddle and whipped it hard across John's head as the lunge went wildly
astray.
"What in pity's name's got into you, lad?" he snapped.
Stepping neatly behind John, he brought his forearm across the lad's
throat, forcing the head back against his chest.
"What's all this about, eh?"
Isolde, half-inclined to laugh at these antics, now saw something of
the problem in John's furious expression, and she came forward with an
attempt to explain. But Silas scowled at her with a shake of his head,
mouthing "Go!" and with a sharp look at the doorway commanded her to
of her eyebrows, she obeyed, and saw how Silas released John with a
push that sent him untidily into the stable door.
He swung round to face Silas With the low sun streaming into his blue
eyes, spitting with anger.
"Get out of here, Francis!" he snarled at his younger brother.
"And shut the door. This is men's business."
"All right," Silas said, 'so you have a problem; I can see that. But
men's business can usually be discussed rationally before violence.
Blows usually come afterwards, you know, John. And I'm not so very bad
at understanding, am I? "
Not to be outdone regarding the proper dress for a fight, John was
stripping off his shirt.
"Then it's time you tried some of your well-known understanding on the
lady, cousin. She made it quite clear last time you were here that she
wanted none of you. Yet you took her to Flanders against her will and
obviously made her so miserable that she couldn't wait to escape you.
Now, you come chasing after her again, and while my back is turned,
you... you..." he pointed at Silas's magnificent torso 'well, look at
you! No wonder she's in tears. No wonder she wants nothing to do with
you. "
"Has she told you exactly what happened in Flanders?"
"No, she cannot bring herself to speak of it, but she's moped ever
since she's got here, and anyone can see--' " No, John. There you're
wrong, I'm afraid. If anyone can see what a woman's thinking from one
moment to the next, he'll have to call himself God. They're not like
men, lad. That's the first lesson you'll have to learn. "
"You cannot deny it, Silas Mariner! You cannot deny that Mistress
Isolde couldn't stand the sight of you when you first met. Even I
could see that."
"No, I can't deny that. But that's now several weeks ago, John."
"Weeks, months!" he yelled.
"What's the matter? She's still in tears at the sight of you. You
don't change a woman's heart in weeks, do you? Even you can't do that,
surely? You shall fight me, cousin. I've sworn to protect her against
you and I shall rescue her from your clutches. Come on, fight me!" He
balanced himself with fists aloft.
One would have had to look closely to see Silas's reaction: a slight
tightening of the cheeks, a fractional lowering of the eyelids.
John was now in full spate.
"She's told my mother what happened, and my mother's given her comfort,
so the least I can do is to offer her my protection. Put them up,
man!"
At that moment, the door into the courtyard opened quietly to admit Sir
Gillan who, summoned by Francis, hoped to mediate in the dispute.
He stood with his back to the door as one who had seen this kind of
thing before.
"Master John is the challenger?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir. I am," said John, glowering.
"He is, sir. Should I accept the challenge?"
"If the lady's honour is at stake, then I believe you should. La
Vallon. Is that the case?"
"No, sir," Silas said.
"Yes! Yes, it is! You know damn well it is. She does not want your
attentions forced upon her. She's been happy to accept mine while--' "
Ah, I see," Sir Gillan said.
"Then I see nothing for it but to fight for the lady. You are well
matched. Are you ready, both of you? Do you accept me as referee?"
"Sir Gillan." Silas frowned.
"If you can persuade John to listen to me, I'm sure this can be settled
than we do."
"Speak for yourself, sir!" John said.
"If you're afraid, say so!"
Silas sighed.
"Teh! I accept the challenge. Come, let's get it over with."
"The first to land three clean punches is the winner. Now, set to,"
Sir Gillan called.
Within doors, Isolde could hardly believe what was happening. But Dame
Elizabeth was philosophical about her son's need to prove himself in
the eyes of adults.
"Silas won't hurt him, my dear," she said, hugging Isolde to her.
"He knows what it's all about, and so does your father.
They'll see he's not injured any more than he needs to be. It's his
pride that's suffering most. "
And in that she was right, for although John's education in the ways of
women was not completed in the fifteen minutes that followed, his pride
was salvaged by knowing that Isolde was lost to him not by default but
by force of circumstance.
Watching for Sir Gillan's signal, Silas put an end to it with only the
minor disfigurement of a cut lip and a bruised eyebrow for John and
some sore ribs for himself. The bucket of cold water was then the
prelude to a cooling-off during which Sir Gillan tended the young man
and gave him some much-needed fatherly advice about the wayward
workings of women's hearts, citing his own Felicia as an example rather
than Isolde. From him, John took it to heart and was obliged to shake
Silas's hand with a good grace.
Silas eased a hand over his ribs and pulled on his much-mussed shirt.
"Another couple of inches, young man, and I shall insist on swords
instead of fists. Are we friends again?"
John nodded, moving his jaw from side to side with his hand.
"What's Mistress Isolde going to think?" he said, thickly.
Lifting an eyebrow, Silas gave him a gentle thump on the shoulder.
"If you ever discover what Mistress Isolde thinks," he said, 'you might
let me and her father know, because you'll be breaking new ground.
Now, lad, let's go and eat, eh? "
What Mistress Isolde thought about Silas's house on Coney Street in the
city of York was not so difficult for anyone to see. They had taken
their leave of Dame Elizabeth once again, tearfully and with much
affection, but in complete agreement that it would not do to linger,
all things considered. Now, an added delight was to meet Felicia La
Vallon, who had been staying in York since her brother's departure with
Sir Gillan the day before, and the tension that Isolde and Felicia had
half-expected from each -other dissolved at their first meeting, having
so much more in common than their unusual relationship. They were to
each other like the sisters neither of them had had.
The house was large, built around a courtyard and tastefully furnished,
and staffed by three men and a woman who were overjoyed not only to see
their master in love at last but to know that they would be living in
York, with some months in Brugge during the summer.
In an upper chamber hung with autumn-red carpets, they watched a
September gale lash the windows and bounce across the wide river that
passed the end of the long garden. Silas's hands gently caressed her
belly, his lips nudging at her neck.
"Scarborough too, eh? In the spring, perhaps?"
"You've lost Elizabeth, love. You know that, don't you?"
"To William? Yes, that was the general idea. I'd been wondering how
to get them together for years. I've never known anything fit so well
into place as that, and now he's established in Westminster, she'll go
to him, I know it. The boys are ready to run the place now: John's
longing to be left in charge."
Isolde turned herself into his arms.
"And I hear that my brother Sean spends all his days in your father's
library. I hope he doesn't learn bad habits."
"What habits, wench?"
"Abducting people?"
"No! He'll not learn how to do that. That's a La Vallon specialty,
remember. Reserved for difficult cases. Have you decided to marry me,
lass?"
She took his hand and held it again over her womb.
"Both of us?" she whispered.
"You want both of us, Silas Mariner, for the price of one?"
"Priceless," he said.
"I have nothing to offer except myself and what you've seen. It's an
unfair bargain, lass, but I beg you to accept me.
Mistress, lover, wife or what you will. Name your terms. "
"Wife, dearest heart. Silas Mariner's lady, if you please."
She would have elaborated, but Silas lifted her and laid her with care
on the great tawny-coloured velvet bed with its cover of gold-patterned
brocade. He loosened her hair and took it greedily into one hand,
letting it trickle through his fingers like red gold-dust.
"Mine," he said, watching her green eyes half-close with desire.
"Mine. A real live Medwin."
Epilogue
Q-Szr^s^Q
vJne month later, Silas and Isolde, Sir Gillan and Felicia were married
at the little family church in Med- winshoime and, by coincidence,
their firstborn sons were born within a week of each other the
following May.
Young Sean went to join his brother Allard in London as assistant to
William Caxton and his new wife Elizabeth, who had one daughter named
Mary. Eventually Caxton's assistant, Wynkyn de Worde, carried on his
master's printing business at the Sign of the Red Pale in Westminster,
established in 1476. Deiric Bouts, who was ill in Leuven, died that
same year and Hugo van der Goes was committed to The Red Cloister
again, where he died a few years later. But the Portinari altarpiece,
about which he was so concerned, was finished by then, shipped to
Florence, and was acclaimed as a masterpiece, although Thommaso
Portinari bankrupted the Medici bank by his misuse of their funds.
In 1477, the year after Silas and Isolde's wedding, Hans Memlinc fought
for the Duke of Burgundy, was wounded, but returned to Bmgge where he
produced many exceptional pieces, some of which can still be seen
there. The Duke of Burgundy was killed that year, but his widow
maintained a glittering court at Mech- elin, her need of Silas
Mariner's exotic merchandise and Caxton's books being greater than
ever.
Bard La Vallon took to the diamond trade like a duck to water and
stayed in Antwerp with his wife and seven children, three more than his
elder brother. But then, that was only to be expected.
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