He said: ‘I’ll be blunt. I’ve the King’s permission to woo you. I need a wife. I need heirs.’ His eyes swept over her body carefully concealed in the black robes. ‘My wife Constance was barren. It was a source of great concern to me. She died and now I look for another wife.’

Was this courtship? It was not how she had imagined it would be. This man leaned heavily towards her. ‘You’re young. You should bear me sons. I have large estates in Normandy. The Duke is a friend of mine and holds me in favour. I am, as you must know, his brother-in-law. You are a Princess but a dowerless one. Your father’s kingdom has been snatched from him. I doubt not your brother would be pleased to give you to me.’

Edith said hastily: ‘I am not sure, my lord, that I would make you a suitable wife.’

‘Why not?’

‘I know little of the demands of married life.’

He laughed and from across the chamber the Abbess watched uneasily.

He laid a hot and heavy hand on her thigh. ‘That is something I can teach you. I would not wish you practised in such matters. The King would give his consent I know.’

‘There is my uncle to be consulted.’

‘Have no fear. If the King consents so will he.’

‘I should need time to consider.’

‘You know little of the ways of love you tell me, maiden. You know little of the ways of state. The King has decided that I shall have you if I like what I see. And I like it well enough.’ Leaning towards her suddenly he pushed back the coif which concealed her hair. The two thick fair braids were revealed.

‘Why yes,’ he said. ‘I like it well.’

The Abbess, her face pink with mortification, had come towards them.

‘I gave you no permission, sir, to undress my charges.’

‘Why, Abbess, you put ideas into my head. You could not call removing the head-dress undressing.’

‘The interview must be at an end.’ she said.

‘So be it. I have seen enough.’ replied the Duke.

He stood up; he bowed. Christina said to the girls: ‘Wait here.’ And she herself conducted Alan of Bretagne from the chamber.

Edith’s face was scarlet; she was trembling. She could not forget the gleam in his eyes.

Mary was excited. ‘Edith, does it mean that you are going to be married?’

‘He said he had come to look at me and I was well enough.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘I hated him. I hated the way he looked at me. As though I were a horse. His hands were hot and strong. Oh, Mary, he frightened me.’

‘But he would be a husband. Oh, Edith, if you marry I shall be here alone.’

‘They will find a husband for you doubtless.’

‘I hope he will not be as old as yours.’

‘I am going to my cell.’

‘The Abbess said we were to wait.’

‘I cannot, Mary. I want to get away from this room...I can see him too clearly here. I can smell him, I can’t get away from him here.’

‘She will be angry.’

‘I don’t care, Mary. I must go.’

* * * * *

She lay on her straw. Anything, she thought was better than submitting to what he was going to teach her. He was not the lover whom she had imagined. He wanted to breed sons and he was going to enjoy the breeding in a manner which she did not think would be very enjoyable to her. In truth he repelled her so strongly that what she wanted more than anything was never to see him again. Anything...simply anything was better than marriage with him.

But the King had given his consent. She knew well enough that Princesses had no say in whom they should or should not marry. She remembered the story of her mother’s being washed up at Queen’s Ferry and being given the hospitality of the King of Scotland; and the King of Scotland had been handsome and young, a veritable fairy prince. He had said: ‘This Princess is without dowry. She has no great position, but I love her and she loves me.’ And so they were married. Her mother’s attendants had often told the story. How beautiful she was and how the King had taken one look at her and had declared his intention of marrying her. That was love; that was romance; and if, as Aunt Christina had said, she had been guilty of dreams, they had certainly not been lascivious; they had concerned an idyllic romance such as that of her parents.

The door of her cell was opened; the Abbess came and sat down looking at her.

‘What did he say to you?’

‘He spoke of marriage.’

‘And you were all a-tremble to go to him! I could see you could scarcely wait. You should thank me for taking such good care of you. He would have had you with child by now had I left you together.’

Edith rose from her straw. ‘It is not true. I hated him. He is coarse...and I would rather do anything than marry him.’

The Abbess was silent for a few moments; her expression softened. Here was triumph.

Then her lips hardened. ‘You’re lying. I have seen the wanton in you.’

‘Nay, ‘tis not so.’

‘There was pleasure on your face when he removed your coif.’

‘I hated his hands on me.’

‘You hated that? Then what of the marriage bed? That will be more to your taste doubtless. Such a man would debase you. Your body would belong to him. You know little of such men. You know nothing of what marriage means. It is my duty to make that plain to you. You cannot fall into his probing lascivious hands without knowing what is in store for you.’

‘Pray do not tell me. I cannot bear to hear.’

‘But you shall hear.’ The Abbess bent over her. She forced her to turn so that she lay on her back and the Abbess stared down at her.

Edith wanted to stop up her ears. She could not bear to listen to what her aunt was saying. She could not believe it. Her saintly mother could never have done such things.

The Abbess was smiling to herself; she seemed to be looking into far-off pictures which she was conjuring up from her imagination.

She said several times: ‘This I tell you for your own good. That you may know the ways of men and what they expect from women.’

‘I want none of him,’ sobbed Edith.

‘There is only one safe place and that is in the Abbey. And here the soldiers could come at any time. Wear the robe always; hide your hair; try to look cold and unsmiling. For if the soldiers should come to this Abbey—as they have done to others—then men would seize you and do to you unlawfully what Alan of Bretagne would with the blessing of the church. There is only one way to save yourself. I offer you that. You can tell the King that you have made your mind to become a nun. That you have already taken some of your vows.’

‘I have not.’

‘That can be remedied.’

‘But I will not. My father said...’

‘You want to go to this man? You long for the touch of his probing hands; your body calls out to share in his filthy practices.’

‘No. No.’

‘Listen to me. It is custom in our royal family that a member of it shall always be an Abbess of Wilton Abbey. I am shortly to leave Rumsey for Wilton. I shall train you to take my place for you shall be the Abbess in due time. It is your duty to our ancestors and first of all to the greatest of them, King Alfred. Would you displease him? He would haunt you if you did. Alfred, the saints and God himself have decreed that she shall follow me. You will be in command of a great Abbey; you will be following our royal tradition. I have decided that I shall train you for this.’

‘My father said I was not to take the veil.’

‘And what happened to him? He was killed by a lance that pierced his eye. His was a painful death. A just punishment, some might say.’

‘He was good to us.’

‘Your mother wished it. She was an Atheling as we are. She understood the traditions of royalty.’

‘Mayhap Mary could be the next Abbess.’

‘Mary is not my choice. You are that. You can absorb learning. You do well at your lessons. You will be educated as few women are. And this choice has to be made. The noble life of the Abbey or the foul one with that rake who could not keep his hands from you even in my presence.’