Lapvona(71)

‘Tell us what you ate,’ the villagers wanted to know.

So after a description of the fine food, how the servants changed the tablecloths between courses, the regal cloak the lord wore, the warm fire, and the strong ale, the villagers sang a few Christmas carols, then went home and thanked God that they had survived another holiday. They prayed for the lord and his wife and the unborn baby.



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Perhaps it is most miraculous when God exacts justice even when no human lifts a finger. Or perhaps it is simply fate. Everything seems reasonable in hindsight. Right or wrong, you will think what you need to think so that you can get by. So find some reason here:

By midnight, Villiam had drunk half the bottle of wine, Ivan’s gift of poison, and was now dead on the floor of his bedroom next to Lispeth, who had died from only a drop on her tongue, so fragile was she, and so willing to leave this stupid life behind.

The priest had wandered into Villiam’s chambers, hoping to find some comfort in the lord’s arrogance, only to discover him dead, his mouth blackened with wine, his hands stretched out toward Lispeth, who lay silently on the floor like a doll. I must be imagining things, he thought. Barnabas went back to his room and locked the door, determined to go to bed and wake up to a bright new day, the horror of his hallucination wiped clean by sleep. But there was banging on his door. Mad with fear, he believed it was the Devil himself pounding his fist, his vicious dogs panting right outside. So Barnabas hanged himself with his bedsheet thrown over the rafter. Better to take his own life than have it taken, he reasoned.

It was not the Devil, of course, but a draft from the hall that shook the door. Marek had told Petra to leave a window open while he slept. A warm wind was coming in from the south, and it carried with it the strange, wistful scent of violets.





Spring





From the hallway, Marek could hear it crying. Like a crow cawing, arrogant and spoiled. A regular, gnawing complaint of need echoed through the door. Silence perturbed Marek, too, as he imagined the baby’s cries had been quieted by Agata’s breast in its mouth. And then there was the horror of Ina’s cooing, the singing, the laughter at the wee one in her arms, he presumed. Marek remembered the last time he’d nursed, a year ago now, in Ina’s small cabin in the woods, her nipple hardening in the back of his throat. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now he could demand that anyone nurse him. He could go down to Lapvona and point at any woman with an ample bosom and assign her to be his wet nurse for life, if he wanted. Maybe one day he would, he thought, if he grew desperate enough. If only his own mother would be willing, they might actually have a happy little family now at the manor. But the baby would be a distraction, always. Especially one that had been proclaimed the Christ. But who was there to verify that? The priest was long gone by now.

In a year, Marek had gone from lowly lamb herder’s son to the lord of Lapvona. He hadn’t asked for the title, but there was nobody left to hand it to. He tried his best to make himself feel at home. He took over Villiam’s chambers and outfitted himself with all the clothes from his closet. He had hoped that fine clothes and nice food would distract him from his woe, but of course they only gave him more anxiety, as wealth and power always do. Ivan sent a staff to account for the land and earnings and to manage the manor. Marek had nothing to do, they said. ‘Just be happy that Ivan has this all taken care of.’

Despite Marek’s lordship, Jude still refused to be a father to him. He refused, too, Marek’s offer of a room in the house, preferring to keep his bed with the eyeless horse even though Ivan’s men now managed the stable. Jude had nothing to do. Marek even had Petra go down to buy some lamb babes from a farmer in the village. They had brownish gray tufted hair and black faces, ears, and feet. Marek brought them to Jude on silk ropes tied around their small necks and handed him the reins.

‘You can start again,’ Marek said hopefully. ‘And you can keep as many babes as you like. Forever.’

‘Babes don’t stay babes,’ Jude said back. ‘Anyway, these are not the right kind.’ He let them go, refused to even pet them.

‘Will nothing make you happy?’ Marek asked.

Jude shrugged and walked off. Marek let the babes go free, trusting that Ivan’s men would know what to do with them. He gave up. He had everything and nothing. His father couldn’t even look him in the eye.

‘Sometimes something new can remind you of something you lost,’ Petra said later, trying to comfort him.

‘How do you know? What new thing have you ever got?’ Marek asked. He liked to bully Petra because she took all his accusations very literally.

‘Let me think. I had a new apron once. And when I think about it now, the new apron did make me sad, because the old one had fit me so well for so long. But then it caught fire and the left part got burnt, so I had to replace it. I miss that old apron,’ she said mawkishly.

‘The nun,’ Marek asked Petra. ‘Is she happy?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen her since the wedding.’

‘Take a guess.’

‘Hmm.’ Petra had to think about it. She rubbed her hands together and stared at the wall, as though conjuring some kind of mystic knowledge. Marek leaned back in his bed. He had developed an obsessive habit of picking at his cuticles. He peeled tiny strips of his skin up from the nails, chewed them up and spat them out on the bedspread.